


Shlorp

by Rise_Of_The_Valkyries



Series: Beloved [7]
Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 51,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23558209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rise_Of_The_Valkyries/pseuds/Rise_Of_The_Valkyries
Series: Beloved [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695574





	Shlorp

Unlike Finn, Blaine had the decency to knock.

After a few beats and some suspicious rustling noises, Finn called out, "Yeah?"

Given the all-clear, Blaine poked his head into his stepbrother's room, spotting him lying on his stomach on his bed with one hand shoved under his pillows.

"Am I interrupting?" asked Blaine, wary.

"What? No," said Finn quickly.

"Uh-huh," Blaine responded. "Can I borrow your muscles for a minute, Mr. Quarterback?"

"Yeah, sure," Finn relented with a sigh, rolling to his side and tossing his long legs over the side of the bed. He watched Finn push his gigantic self up. "You rearranging your room again? I thought you finally had everything where you wanted it."

"Everything's right where I want it," said Blaine, lifting his hand to motion Finn to follow him and heading off down the hall. "I'm just – tweaking something. And suffice to say, I underestimated the weight of my new mattress."

"Tell me about it! I'm still not used to sleeping on a bed that actually fits me."

"Barely," kidded Blaine.

"Barely," Finn agreed.

He opened his door for his stepbrother, who saw the piles of pillows and strewn coverlets in the corner and chuckled at the way Blaine's mattress was awry, hanging heavily off the corner of the bed.

"What are you trying to do, exactly? Flip it?"

"Let me just shut the door real quick," said Blaine, mindful of the fact that their parents were downstairs watching The King of Queens. Once it was clicking behind him, he saw that Finn looked a tad wary. "I have something that I'm installing. Under it."

"What, like... a... shoe... organizer...?"

"Charming suggestion," said Blaine, "but no, it's nothing you can buy at Sheets-N-Things. Unless there's a section of the store I'm unaware of."

It took Finn a few seconds to follow him, but his face went from confused to suspicious. "Dude, no way."

"Look, I feel awkward asking you, but would you just help me get the mattress off the box spring, wait a minute while I fit the thing to the mattress, then help me get it back on? Three minutes, tops."

"You're shitting me," insisted Finn.

"I assure you, I'm not."

"You have to show me!"

"You have to promise not to tell Dad or Carole!"

"Let's say," Finn proposed deliberately, "I never saw this and you never saw my browser history."

"Aw, so the blackmail chapter of our relationship is officially behind us," observed Blaine. "Fair enough."

He went to his closet, where he'd put the plain cardboard shipper, and bent to pull his purchase from it.

Several days of unwise online window-shopping had left Blaine with a super weird browser history, himself. Between his searches for party ideas for bowling alleys that all seemed to be aimed towards third-graders and repeatedly visiting bondage equipment stores, Google probably thought he was a stay-at-home mom running a dungeon out of her basement.

Researching bondage equipment was becoming a real hobby of his. Acquainting himself with what was out there was certainly an education, and reading what other Doms and subs liked was intriguing. Blaine had always known Dominants came in every flavor from vanilla to, um... insanely rocky road. Everyone did. People joked about it. But the spectrum ran wider than Blaine had ever even imagined. He wasn't totally sure where he fell, in the scheme of things. He had always fundamentally understood and looked forward to the pleasure of seeing a collar of his choosing marking his total dominion over a guy whose desire it was to belong to him. But he never would have been able to anticipate how it actually felt to have a submissive, or to think of his beautiful, brawny sub in particular when he looked at all this stuff.

Said submissive's birthday was Tuesday, but... Blaine had really been shopping for himself when he'd picked out a restraint system.

In terms of bondage gear, the series of adjustable black straps was definitely on the tame side, but Finn still looked completely astounded, his mouth slipping open as he stared at the four cuffs that dangled from the straps.

"This long, thick strap here goes under the mattress, head to foot," said Blaine, pulling the strap taut between his hands and holding it up so Finn could see. "Four others are attached. It's shaped sort of like a capital 'I,' all laid out. The other straps come up around the mattress in pretty much any configuration you could dream up, so... basically I could restrain someone in whatever position I wanted, to whatever end. And when it's not in use, it's easy to just tuck all the straps out of sight, so no one would ever suspect."

"Blaine," Finn started, but it didn't seem as if he actually had anything else to say. He was blinking a lot, and Blaine wondered if he was trying to push away thoughts about his teammate being restrained with those very straps or if he was just that surprised.

"As you can see, my headboard doesn't really facilitate restraint," said Blaine, watching Finn glance over at it blankly. "I can't handcuff or even tie anything to it, and I don't think I could realistically hide a spreader bar from our parents, so this is the next best thing."

"You're really serious," said Finn after a pause.

"Of course."

"Wow," said Finn. "This is kinda hardcore of you."

Blaine couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing, the way Finn was staring at it. He gathered the straps somewhat self-consciously. "Is it?"

"Um. Yeah, dude," said Finn, and laughed under his breath. "But it's kinda cool, too. I can't believe you would actually get this kind of thing!"

"Well, believe it, buddy!" said Blaine, relaxing and smiling. So Finn was impressed, or maybe even proud. It wasn't often that anyone was impressed with him. His eye for vintage brooches and highly organizational brain were as criminally underappreciated as his falsetto. The ways in which he dominated Kurt particularly seemed to confuse others, even his friends; Sam took him seriously in comparison to most people, yet he also seemed amazed that Blaine bothered. Since Finn was both a popular, championship-winning football player and a sub, it always felt rewarding to gain his respect rather than his ire.

"Let's go ahead and get it in place, I guess," said Finn, stepping in and grabbing the end of Blaine's mattress. He paused immediately, eyeing it. "You know, you could just, like, slide it under the mattress from the side and kinda scoot it without lifting the mattress. We don't need to haul it all the way off the box spring."

"I have to adjust it to fit, though," said Blaine, fingering one of the slides.

"That's no problem," said Finn, and went ahead and shoved Blaine's mattress back into its proper place with a manly grunt. "Let's just get it under there, then I'll hold up the end of the mattress while you adjust."

"My, my! What a problem-solver," marveled Blaine. "How about you take one end and I'll take the other, and we'll slide it under."

Finn acquiesced, taking the side of the strap that Blaine handed to him and smiling awkwardly.

It had to be a little weird, Blaine supposed, to be touching something that had such an explicit purpose and belonged to your brother, who at one point totally had a crush on you and maybe might have liked to use such a thing on you.

Even if he and Finn weren't technically related, it still felt like they were brothers at this point. Knowing the kind of porn Finn had on his laptop was more gross than interesting now that they'd lived together for a year and Blaine's silly crush had evaporated. Yes, Blaine had wasted a lot of time and energy thinking he could casually dom Finn around the house without him noticing and that it would make Finn eventually, inevitably succumb to his inner desires and curiosities – but alas, Finn had noticed and had not appreciated it. Now they shared a bathroom and he washed Finn's stubble out of the sink every other day. The mystique was definitely gone. But in its place was a friendship born of sharing their lives in a strictly platonic way. That Blaine was a Dom and Finn a sub, Blaine gay and Finn straight, typically didn't make itself present in their conversations as much as who was doing what after school, what was for dinner, and what was that choreography, again? To his credit, Finn had adjusted nicely to his new status quo. Getting his own room had helped.

Together they managed to slide the strap underneath Blaine's mattress, and with care, wiggled it to about the center, leaving the four straps (one for each wrist and ankle) dangling at the head and foot of the bed. The mattress really did have some solid heft to it. Blaine could tell that between the weight of the mattress and the weight of his sub, this deceptively light system of straps would be pretty effective.

Once the anchoring strap was in place, they hoisted up the end of the mattress together, then Finn held it up just enough for Blaine to reach under and slide things to fit to his exacting preferences.

"Y'know, you could have asked Kurt to do this for you," Finn grunted.

"He's at work," Blaine said, on his knees as he experimentally pulled at and arranged the two ankle straps. A hot thrill shot through him when he thought of Kurt's ankles bound and held wherever his Dom wanted them to be held.

The black cuffs that had come attached to the straps were flimsy in comparison to his sub's thick, badass leather wrist cuffs. They simply attached with Velcro – but that was good. He was still a bondage newbie. Velcro wasn't too intimidating. Blaine intended on just removing the wrist cuffs and using the D-rings on Kurt's as they were meant to be used, but maybe if Kurt liked this, he'd upgrade the ankle cuffs, too. He felt himself stiffen in his jeans as all that occurred to him in the space of a few heartbeats. Tuesday, he told himself, aware of Finn hulking over him.

"Okay, but you could've waited till the next time he comes over," said Finn. "He could help set this up, easy. I mean. This is... for him, right. You're going to use this with him."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to use it with anyone else," said Blaine airily.

"'Course not," said Finn.

"I think this might actually be good," decided Blaine, sitting back on his calves and resting his palms on his thighs. "Thanks, Finn. You can drop it."

Finn did so with some relief, stepping back to look at the straps as they dangled over the foot of the bed. He watched as Blaine calmly took one of the ankle straps, peeled it open with two loud rips of Velcro, and tucked the flattened cuff under the mattress, effectively hiding it from sight. He planted his hands on his hips and observed while Blaine went from corner to corner, tending each one. Blaine just went ahead and unhooked the wrist straps. He didn't want to take Kurt's cuffs off him, so these weren't needed.

"If you need to adjust it, or anything, you should have Kurt do it," he finally said.

"Should I?" asked Blaine. He blinked at Finn, who shrugged nonchalantly.

"I just mean, it'd be pretty humiliating."

"Humiliating?"

"Yeah, totally," Finn said. "Making him adjust the thing he's about to get strapped into."

"Ah," said Blaine, tucking the left wrist strap away slowly. He couldn't tell whether that sounded good to him or not.

He got it, of course – how powerful it was to put someone in the position of lesser-than. Not just to have them act as a personal assistant or servant, but to tip the balance even harder, purposefully pluck at someone else's innate sense of pride and self-awareness. Dom or sub, everyone who had ever gone to high school could understand the power of it, probably. He wondered if Quinn focused on humiliating her subs and if Kurt had experienced any of that in private, or if that was maybe more of a particular vulnerability of Finn's.

Back when Finn had first joined glee, it had been incredibly hard to keep him in the club. He'd been an easy target for guys like Azimio and Karofsky and had taken a bunch of crap from the football team. Finn was always pinning his hopes on winning Nationals like it would make glee club cool and get the snickers and harassment to stop.

Kurt definitely had his own sense of pride. At one time, Kurt too had been reluctant to sacrifice his jock reputation to the altar of glee, but Finn had talked him into it when Puck had taken a side-trip to juvie and they needed another guy. He hadn't quit after getting slushied, nor had he quit football when his shoulder had been dislocated and the quarterback position given back to Finn. But he'd seemed really insulted when Jacob Ben Israel had been dogging them in the hallway and suggested he might ask to be released from Blaine. He was dedicated and loyal, even if it didn't benefit him – and protective of the people he cared about. And even though he wasn't really interested in clothes, Kurt seemed to want to look good, or how he thought his Dom wanted him to. He'd done a pitch-perfect job recreating that whole Bieber look. Maybe it was vanity, or maybe it was just part of his desire to be accepted and pleasing. Either way, he seemed conscious about how he looked, physically, enough to make a drastic change to his hair before starting at McKinley and to keep super fit.

Blaine could imagine Kurt lifting the mattress for him, and being all to happy to do so. Kurt seemed eager to do things in service, not embarrassed. Knowing Kurt, he'd approach the task like it was an honor and privilege, maybe thank Blaine for allowing him to touch the straps or the mattress or pretty much anything.

Blaine found himself biting his lower lip, another flush of arousal creeping over him at his lizard brain's ideas, and again, tried to push away the thoughts for later. He coughed delicately. "Thanks for the pro tip."

"No problem."

"Not to be nosy," he found himself saying, "and you don't have to tell me, let alone give me gory details, but... just out of curiosity... is that the kind of thing Quinn would make you do?"

"Oh, Quinn – Quinn wouldn't do this kind of thing," said Finn, eyes darting. "Too much work. It's more the way she acts. She just knows how to get in your head, you know?"

"Sure, sure," said Blaine neutrally.

"Okay, well... if we're done here, I'm gonna get back to my, uh, studying. Yeah," said Finn, backing away. He waved his arms and said, "And when I leave this room, I will magically forget all that has transpired here. I saw nothing. Straps? What straps? I don't know what straps even are! Why are you asking me?"

"Good philosophy, Sally Brown. And I never saw pages upon pages of barely-legal pregnant teens stepping on some poor schmuck's disco stick."

"No clue what you're talking about," said Finn, pretty convincingly, and grinned as he left and shut the door behind him.

*

Blaine's Monday hit a speed bump when Rachel, wearing truly the most heinous of toddler-esque sailboat sweaters, marched right up to him after second period and declared, "I need to talk to you about prom."

Along with his French book, Blaine put away stray thoughts to give Rachel his full attention. If she wanted his opinion on a prom dress as equally sad as her sweater, he was more than happy to provide honest feedback.

"What about it?"

"I want your permission to take Kurt."

Not sure he'd heard that right, Blaine arched a brow.

"I'm sorry, I think I just went temporarily deaf. Could you repeat that?"

"I want to take Kurt to prom," she said factually.

He stared at her sunny smile like her hair was made of cats and she'd asked him to braid their tails. It had been a while since he'd heard Rachel Crazy of this quality. "Oh, how I've missed your insanity."

"What? How am I insane?" she asked, chipper. "I need a date! Finn's with Quinn, Puck's barking up the wrong tree that is Lauren Zizes, Mike and Artie are spoken for –"

"And Kurt's not?" Blaine asked, frankly insulted.

"I mean, of course he's your sub, Blaine! NASA can see his cuffs from space. But since you two aren't going, I thought maybe you'd consider letting him escort someone else, namely me. Just as friends! I'm not trying to steal him away from you."

"What makes you so sure he's not going to prom with me?" Blaine demanded. He was more getting offended by the second, even though Rachel was right – they hadn't made any plans to go together. They hadn't even talked about it once.

"Um, who's going with whom is schoolwide knowledge," said Rachel, "but if you must know, Tina told me that Mike told her that Kurt said he wasn't going. So since you aren't taking him, I thought he could be my date! I promise to take good care of him for the evening and return him to you without a single scratch. Also, as you probably recall, I'm now a teetotaler for life, so there will be no drunk kissing, either. Promise."

His ears burning, Blaine fumbled with angry fingers for his chemistry book. He already knew that going with Kurt to junior prom was a silly desire on his part, and one that wouldn't come to fruition, not even in the heat of his Dommiest moments. Kurt was probably working that night. He worked every shift the manager at Nice Slice was willing to give him to try and help his family stay off the streets, and having seen where they were living, he had a renewed sense of how incredibly important it was. Even though he knew Kurt would try his hardest to do whatever he thought his Dom wanted of him, Blaine wouldn't have dreamed of even hinting to Kurt that he should ditch work.

But Rachel didn't know any of that.

"Sorry, Rachel," he said, with some cool faux sympathy. "I don't think so."

She seemed somehow taken aback. "What? Why not? I thought we were friends now."

"We are friends. I just don't think Kurt can go."

"Well, why can't he go?"

"I think he's busy."

"You think he's busy?" she asked persistently. "Or do you just not want him to go with a girl? Especially one with my talent and star quality and ability to rival you in the soprano range?"

"You know what? Fine," said Blaine, slamming his locker shut like Rachel had pounded on a reflex. "If you want to, you can ask him."

"Yes!" Rachel said, clenching her fist triumphantly. "I knew you'd see it my way, Blaine."

"When he turns you down, don't take it personally," Blaine said, turning on the spot with a roll of his eyes.

"Well, what if he says yes? Are you going to ban me from your blog and start glaring at me in the choir room again?"

"Don't worry, that won't happen," he said, his light and steady voice not giving away the fact that he was only about sixty percent certain of that.

The thought of Kurt accepting an offer, however temporary and benign, from another Dom – God, the more he thought about it, the more it annoyed him. He was so completely distracted throughout chemistry that he forgot to take notes, then nearly knocked over the roaring Bunsen burner he was sharing with Becky Jackson.

"Get your head in the game, Anderson," Becky complained. "Some of us need to pass this class."

Blaine boiled with silent indignation the Kurte way his beaker of water boiled on the Bunsen.

The idea of his sub on the arm of a girl again. In front of the whole school, no less! A girl who thought she could just have him for a night, borrow him like a handbag. A girl who had no concept of Kurt's life and could easily abuse his need to please. He could imagine the gymnasium all dolled up with crepe paper and a disco ball and Rachel gliding around putting on airs like Scarlett O'Hara, his poor clueless Kurt on her arm. It would confuse everyone, he thought irrationally. They would wonder if Kurt was about to trade hands yet again and if he really was straight after all, and they'd gossip about him even more than they already did. They might not even see his collars if Kurt wore the suit jacket he'd worn to church on Easter.

"Ugh, you're stirring too hard!" said Becky, shoving his arm.

Leave it to Rachel to make him suddenly feel like he was locked in competition for his own submissive! He had sort of developed a soft spot for her this year, and knew that on some level she was really a kindred spirit, but that didn't mean he wasn't prepared to re-break that little hussy's nose.

The bell rang, jarring him from his thoughts.

He had no idea what the result of the experiment in front of him was.

"Hey, Becky, can I borrow your notes?" he asked.

"No. You suck," she said harshly, and swept off.

Blaine sighed irritably, flagged down a classmate who was painfully frumpy but willing to let him borrow her notes, then took himself down to the cafeteria doors, where Kurt waited for him every day. He needed to warn Kurt about what was coming.

But he could tell at first glance that Rachel had already gotten to him, as he was slouching against the wall next to the doors and wore a look of deep confusion that turned to apprehension when he saw Blaine coming, a nervous breath lifting his chest and righting his posture.

All the turbulence in Blaine smoothed out, the need to comfort Kurt a bigger feeling. He reached out for Kurt's hand.

"Hi, beautiful."

Kurt glanced down at Blaine's fingers twining with his and mouthed, "Oh!"

It felt so right to hold Kurt's hand and be his Dom, his anchor and supporter, that Blaine suddenly didn't know what had gotten him so riled. Kurt was his. Of course other people were bound to realize that he was a catch and want him, but he was wearing Blaine's collar.

"Is something up?" he asked, perfectly aware.

"Uh, Rachel... Rachel just told me my lips are cute and asked me to be her date to prom," said Kurt, brows bunched as if it was the weirdest thing he'd ever conceived of.

"Oh?" Blaine asked pleasantly. "What'd you say?"

"I said no!"

"Aw, poor Rachel, rejected by the cutest sub in the entire school. Did you let her down easy?"

"I – I have no idea," said Kurt, shaking his head. "I mean, I tried to be nice, but it was... weird. She came right up to me with these crazy eyes. I mean. I can't really go, and..." He looked quickly at Blaine's face, then fixed his stare on Blaine's feet instead. "I didn't know what to say, so... I just told her she's not my type."

"Oh," Blaine breathed, pleased in spite of his affected zen about the whole situation.

"I can't afford tickets, so," mumbled Kurt.

"That's okay, honey," Blaine said, leaning his cheek against Kurt's shoulder. The red and blue flannel he was wearing felt old and over-washed and soft as a result.

"I mean... I wish I could..."

For a moment, Blaine let his cheekbone skim against Kurt's shoulder. He thought of assuring Kurt that he didn't have to pay for anything; if Rachel was so bent on going to the dance, it was likely she was willing to pay his way. Just like Blaine would have been willing to buy their tickets, rent Kurt a tux – whatever. But he was sure Kurt didn't want to tell Rachel he couldn't afford tickets anyway, and he still definitely didn't want Kurt to go to prom with someone else. Plus, he didn't want to overwhelm him when he was so busy and taxed already by suggesting he ought to be worrying about junior prom on top of being his family's main provider. So he said, looking up from Kurt's shoulder, "There'll be other dances."

A sigh gusted from Kurt, and his mouth twitched in the corner that tended to be the first to smile, but it was more of a sad tug than a happy one, judging by the way Kurt's eyelids were heavy and his gaze gone astray.

"Rachel's kind of insane sometimes," said Blaine, changing the subject, "but I'll give her props. She's certainly right about your lips."

Kurt looked owl-eyed. "She said everyone's always making fun of them."

"Oh – I thought she said they were cute!"

"Well... yeah. She said that, too, but..."

"And they are cute," insisted Blaine, lifting his chin to rest it on Kurt's shoulder. Squeezing Kurt's hand, he whispered, "I love your lips. They're gorgeous. And so soft. I love touching them, and I love it when you touch me with them."

He leaned in and kissed Kurt softly on his warm neck, just above his plaid collar. It was just a small gesture, but since kids were filtering by them on their way in and out of the crowded lunch room, teachers were quick to call them out, and their friends had noticed they didn't really get their PDA on at school, it still seemed like a big deal.

Losing himself a little, Blaine tipped his mouth up further, kissing the side of Kurt's throat. He could feel how freshly-shaven Kurt was and smell cheap but sweet aftershave, alluringly boyish. Kurt held himself still, but heat was rising in his skin as Blaine dropped a final kiss just underneath his ear lobe, lips catching a curl of hair while they were at it.

He pulled back and watched, deeply satisfied, as Kurt's sandy blond lashes dipped and lifted again in a few hazy blinks, his attention returning extremely obviously to Blaine's face right there next to his own, red patches in his cheeks. For a second he looked as if he wanted to say something, then clenched his jaw and let out another deep sigh, fingers flexing around Blaine's in a return squeeze.

"Wanna get in the salad bar line with me?" Blaine asked him softly.

After a flustered second, Kurt nodded, and let Blaine lead him by the hand into the bustling cafeteria.

*

That night, it was with a particular bee in his bonnet that Blaine flopped onto his belly and speed-dialed Kurt. It was only a quarter after nine, and Kurt's break wasn't for another thirty minutes, but Blaine's brain was working ahead.

He'd had a productive evening, as he'd managed to talk Tina into taking in the netting on the fascinator she was determined to wear to prom so as to reduce the bridal look she feared it had going on. In his opinion, it had more of a mourning veil look, but the netting was definitely too long either way. It had taken several days to convince her she needed to change it up, not find a new dress, but she'd finally come around.

So after a brief meet-up with Sam at the Lima Bean, he'd taken a little trip to the craft store to get some back-up supplies (not to mention some special supplies for something else entirely) in the event of an emergency or stroke of fashion genius. Then the two of them had spent a good two hours dismantling, snipping, stitching, and gluing it with the precision of a team of brain surgeons, with Blaine swearing he would chip in to replace it if it turned out to be a disaster.

While they carefully worked, they talked all things prom. Somehow, it had gotten around to Tina's eager ears that Rachel had asked Kurt to prom and that Kurt had turned her down. She, of course, wanted to know why, but seemed to accept the excuse that Kurt simply had prior plans.

"Well, if you're not going to go to prom with Kurt, you should just go stag!" Tina tried to tell him.

"No, oh my God. How embarrassing," said Blaine automatically. "Nobody would even dance with me."

"I would. Rachel would."

"Tina, if you didn't have a boyfriend and people were telling you to just go to prom by yourself and just take sad waltzes around the room with Rachel, would you be like, 'Gosh, sign me up! I can't wait for all these people who hate me to see I'm the weird kid who doesn't fit in!' I mean – sorry, but it's different for girls. Girls can dance with each other and it doesn't mean anything. No guy is going to dance with me, and that makes the prospect of a dance way less fun."

"Finn might dance with you, like at the wedding," said Tina.

"Yeah, I kinda doubt it," said Blaine, carefully slipping his needle through delicate netting. "That wasn't in front of the whole homophobic school. And seeing as his Domme is up for prom queen and kinda nuts and totally resents me..."

"Okay, then why don't you just bring someone you can dance with? Like Sam?"

Blaine had paused only for a beat before refocusing sharply on his work. That was a terrible idea. He and Sam had spent their get-together just trying to flippantly act normal; in Sam pointing out that it was a bit warm for Blaine to be wearing a scarf, they'd discussed the weather for ten semi-painful minutes. But also it made perfect sense, and that made it somewhat difficult to actually refute.

"He's, um... not my type," he tried to say; Kurt's sheepish words in his mouth.

"You don't have to date him," Tina laughed. "You can just take him as a friend. That way you'll have a guy to dance with and you won't be missing out on one of the two proms you're ever going to have in your entire life! I'm sure Kurt wouldn't want you to miss out just because he can't go. And he's met Sam, right?"

"Uh, yes," said Blaine. "Yes. They've met a couple of times."

"So it's not like you'd be going with some stranger he's never met. I know you really want to go, Blaine! I don't know why you won't admit it."

"Scissors, please, nurse."

Tina had dutifully handed him his small gold embroidery scissors, and the prom gab got put on pause as Blaine fussed and arranged the netting. When she tried the revamped fascinator on to see where the netting fell, it looked awesome. She was pleased, and Blaine was pretty satisfied, himself, and crossed his arms as he watched her pose and bat her eyelashes at herself in her mirror.

Whether or not he would be going to prom was certainly debatable, but at least Tina would look amazing and have a nice night with her sub. How simple it was for her – and most people who wanted it – to have a romantic relationship with her submissive. She was lucky.

He drove home again thinking about Kurt, and a little about Sam.

Maybe, he thought, if things weren't awkward between him and Sam, taking him to prom as a friend would actually be fun. Even if they were literally the only gay couple there, they'd still be a pair of Doms, and if they weren't in competition, that was a powerful statement.

But now that he knew that Sam felt responsive to him on a submissive level – though they were both currently acting like he'd never said such a thing – Blaine didn't know if it was wise. He wondered what Kurt would think if he did take Sam to prom... he wondered if his sub's sense of self-esteem, which Blaine had been working diligently to bolster, would plunge and he'd think it was only a matter of time before Blaine transferred his attentions to Sam as Quinn had transferred hers to Finn.

Well. That wasn't going to happen any more than Rachel was going to get her controlling hands on Kurt. Really, Blaine felt no great yearning for anything more simple and straightforward. It was just another way in which he stood out from the rabble. Or maybe he just adored his sub so much already that he was just honestly completely happy to have him to the extent he did. Whatever the reason, Blaine just knew that even without the prom accoutrements and the sparkle of romance and the certainty that he was what Kurt was attracted to, there was no comparing. He had the better deal. He didn't need to go with Kurt to prom or make out with him to know that their relationship was still valid and meaningful, just like he honestly didn't need Kurt to serve him sexually to get something out of being his Dom. He knew that Kurt still had strong feelings and wanted to belong to him.

Up in his room again, Blaine unfolded the note Kurt had given him and gazed at it. He'd basically memorized it, he'd re-read it so many times, but he still liked to experience it all over again. It never failed to make his heart beat a little harder. As much as he loved the sentiments the note expressed, he loved even more that Kurt had made the effort in the first place. He loved that Kurt had tried to express himself, and even loved that Kurt had seemed nervous to hand him something like this.

I belong to you, Kurt had written, because he'd needed to, wanted to, and not because he'd been instructed to. He wrote in a scrawled print, but his y looped on the bottom like a cursive y. Blaine liked admiring and pondering each pen stroke, knowing Kurt had deliberately picked every word out on his own. Im your sub, I was shown my place and Im grateful. Im so lucky you showed me how much I am your sub... Please let your sub service you...

Kurt answered his phone with a curious, "Blaine?"

The first thing past Blaine's lips was, "Where are you right now?"

"Out on delivery – Glenwood Avenue. I pulled over when I saw it was you."

"Your break is still 9:45, right?" Blaine asked.

"Yes?"

"I wanna see you," Blaine told him. "Tonight."

"I –" started Kurt, clearly surprised. "I could – try to make it over there –"

"You usually just chill in your van when you're on break, right?"

"Yeah, usually, or just sit outside."

"Perfect. I'm going to drive over."

"Now??"

"At 9:45. When your break starts, I'll be in the parking lot of Nice Slice, waiting for you."

"... 'Kay," Kurt managed.

Blaine bit down on his smirk. He would've loved to know what Kurt's expression was at that moment – he sounded pretty confused. He reveled in the glorious feel of taking his sub's attentions, of lathering him up, and knew he could do one better.

"I hope you're licking those lips of yours, sweetie. Do you know what you're going to get to do?"

Kurt's receiver picked up a breath and brought it to Blaine's ear laced with static. Blaine waited, and finally Kurt let out a guarded, "Um. No, what?"

"You know what you're going to get to do," Blaine chided playfully. "See you at 9:45."

"... See you," Kurt echoed, and Blaine ended the call with a thrill in his gut, then tossed his phone aside and rolled off the bed for a wardrobe change. He needed to dress to impress.

Pointless, maybe – especially because Kurt didn't really pay attention to clothes, and he was only seeing Kurt for a mere fifteen minutes anyway – but Blaine just merrily pleased himself, unbuttoning his vest and sliding off the jeans he'd worn to school.

He knew what he wanted to wear without having to think about it: his sleek black Underground pants. The outside hem of each leg was lined from hip to ankle with an onslaught of decorative safety pins. He usually saved these babies for special occasions, as wearing them to school would be a fantastic way to get him expelled. He'd last worn them to Rachel's party, the night Kurt had broken down into tears over Quinn and let Blaine take him home. He didn't flatter himself that Kurt would remember what he was wearing that night, or anything. Everyone but him and Finn had been drunk, drunk, drunk, and he didn't even know if Kurt would notice he'd changed clothes. These were just definitely the trousers that spoke to his mood.

Such a statement piece he typically wore with shoes that wouldn't detract from the presentation, but tonight Blaine paired the pants with his over-the-top studded combat boots, which were hardcore, classic Dom. He was wearing enough studs and pins to set off a metal detector from thirty feet away.

Into his pants, he tucked a black and white checkered shirt, and over that, he pulled on his bondage harness, which crossed over his chest like an X. It was just a fun accessory – a wink at the stereotypical bondage look, really – but Figgins didn't care for it any more than he cared for a student wearing hundreds of sharp little pins on his legs, so he hardly ever got to wear it. With his sleeves rolled up a few times and the nicely starched checkered cuffs snug to his forearms, his shirt gave his whole look a pop of classic prep, somewhere between hoity-toity and cool, distracting from the overwhelming subculture vibe of the other pieces.

Still, his boots made quite an impact on the stairs as he hopped down them.

"Hey! Where you goin', Sid Vicious?" his dad asked him from the kitchen table, where he had paperwork and bills laid out.

"Oh, you know, to inspire the nation's youth into anarchy," said Blaine, sailing past him towards the garage.

"Okay, but really."

"Nice Slice."

"I'm gonna stick with the anarchy answer," said his dad, returning his attention to whatever he was writing. "I haven't had real pizza in eight months."

"Don't worry, I'm not having pizza without you," Blaine assured him. "I'm just meeting up with my sub."

"Nope. I distinctly heard something about anarchy."

Amused at his dad's determined expression, Blaine said, "Back in thirty minutes."

"Careful out there, bud."

*

Nice Slice, which was in the corner of a small strip mall that had mostly already closed shop, was nearly empty but still brightly lit. Only a couple of cars were in its tiny parking lot. The yellow Nice Slice logo, painted in the window of the little shop years ago, looked like a happy-faced Pac-Man rip-off about to eat a slice of pepperoni pizza that could have fit into his mouth and made him a whole circle. Inside, a couple of employees in canary yellow shirts were bustling around behind the counter, putting together pizza boxes.

As was the case with many of his ensembles, Blaine was over-dressed for his destination.

And he was a few minutes early. But Kurt's family's van was in the lot, sitting in a parking spot in a row set back from the storefront with a Nice Slice sign stuck to its roof, so he knew Kurt was there. He pulled up next to it, then simply turned his car off, climbed out, leaned himself against the door, and waited, peering at the storefront patiently.

Just standing there, listening to his engine settle and waiting for his sub, the energy that had been propelling Blaine forward had no place to go, and it gathered in his gut. His dick flushed against the front of his snug pants. He slid his hands into his pockets casually, took a deep breath, and tilted his chin up, not trying to push away his excitement, but trying to look calm, at least.

A jingle bell on the door rang audibly when Kurt emerged, wearing the Kurte yellow polo as the other employees. It was tucked into his jeans, but looked a size too big for him. He eagerly took off a white visor with the smiley yellow logo on the front and ran a hand through his dented locks. Whether he was mussing them up or trying to neaten them, Blaine couldn't tell. Kurt's mouth pressed into a crooked line of concentration as he looked around parking lot. When he spotted Blaine, Blaine rewarded him with a pleased smirk.

"There's my hard worker," he called out. "Right on time."

Kurt clutched his visor in both hands, holding it in front of him as he quickly scooted the short but sweet distance over to Blaine with an anxious tension in his shoulders.

"Hi," he breathed, voice caught high and soft in his throat.

"Come here," said Blaine with a coaxing tilt of his head, drawing an obedient Kurt in a few more steps. His gaze roamed down Kurt's body, lingering over the ring of his visor and the grip of his fingers around it. There was definitely something Kurt was trying to cover up, clutching it like that. He remembered Kurt talking once about how he didn't want his manager to see him exactly as he was right then, tent pitched. What a cutie.

Catching at his lower lip with one canine, Blaine commented, "You're all ready to be good for me."

Blaine could hear his sub's sharp intake of breath.

"In your van," Blaine added, before Kurt could think Blaine wanted him to drop to his knees right in the parking lot.

Fumbling, Kurt dropped his keys. Blaine waited with a patience he only ever really had when he was waiting for Kurt to manage something while Kurt ducked and snatched them up again, then clumsily unlocked the sliding door.

Blaine had a brief flashback to climbing into the back of the van on Easter Sunday: seating himself behind Kurt's dad; Stevie and Stacey and their Easter baskets on the bench seat in back; Kurt telling Stacey that Blaine was his Dom. That morning the van was full of light, church-bound, tidy. Tonight, it was dark, and two full laundry hampers were stacked in the seat behind the driver's, their dull plastic frames lit with a dim ceiling light.

"All the way back," Kurt said. As Blaine slid himself between the middle seats, Kurt climbed in after him, shutting the door with a noisy roll and clunk.

In the back, a woman's suit jacket and pants were hanging on a hook over the window in a plastic garment cover from the cleaner's. A lidded cardboard file box was sitting on the seat on top of some manila folders, and a little pink denim jacket Blaine suspected belonged to Stacey was forgotten in the corner, its sleeve hanging off the bench seat. The small trunk space behind the seat was crammed full of more boxes and stuff Blaine didn't care to stop and try to identify. The stuff cluttered the back window.

"Sorry it's a mess," Kurt grunted. He reached past Blaine's hip to shove the file box aside for him.

"Nah, it's cozy," said Blaine, who pulled his phone from his back pocket, then turned and slid himself onto the bench seat. He found that Kurt was on his knees between the middle seats, one hand planted on the floor and the other against an arm rest, cuffs fully on display. He was staring at Blaine with big, hopeful eyes.

Intensity washed over Blaine. Abandoning his phone on the bench beside him, he leaned back and unfastened his trousers.

"Blaine," Kurt uttered, crawling awkwardly towards him. His little waist just fit between the seats, but his wide shoulders had him twisting to try and slide between them. Blaine managed to open his knees a bit, each one striking a seat in front of him, and reached out, fisting the placket of buttons on Kurt's cheery yellow polo. He didn't even need to pull at him for Kurt to arch over his lap, settling between his knees.

The ceiling light went off again, leaving the light of the moon and Nice Slice's sign trying to find its way in.

"You've been waiting patiently, huh?" Blaine asked.

"Yes," Kurt breathed.

"I know. What a good boy. So patient."

Blaine smiled hazily, enjoying the warmth of Kurt's arms on his thighs and hands gingerly grasping his hips as Kurt got himself as close as possible, leaning right in between his legs. Kurt's broad upper half was heavily sandwiched on Blaine's lower half, making it virtually impossible for Kurt not to have a hundred safety pins lining his forearms and for Blaine not to stroke those bare, warm arms, sliding all the way from shirt collar to wrist collar and up again.

"Blaine, please," Kurt begged softly, a plaintive note in his voice. His hands moved and gripped at the open fly of Blaine's trousers, fisting each side of the open zip. "Please let me. Please."

"You have about thirteen minutes, don't you," Blaine lilted, grappling for his phone, "to service me before you have to go back to work. I'll set my alarm for ten..."

Kurt sighed roughly, heated fingers fighting past the tucks of Blaine's checkered shirt and into the y-front of his boxers, whispering, "Thank you. Thank you so much, Blaine!"

There was that earnest gratitude Blaine had envisioned.

Arousal pushing his dick to full mast, he flexed on the bench seat as Kurt's fingers curled around him, pulling him out and stroking him there in the dark back seat, feeling him growing stiffer. His precious face was gently lit by the nearby screen of Blaine's phone, an unnatural bluish-white glow that let Blaine admire his sucker punched expression and heavy eyelids and curvy pink mouth opening. The light shone on the inside of Kurt's fat lower lip as he slipped the head of Blaine's dick right in for a suck, applying sudden moist heat that tugged gently at his knob.

Blaine moaned freely, not even trying to stay at attention for anything other than Kurt's mouth. It felt safe in the small space, with Kurt's mom's pantsuit blocking an entire window and laundry towering, crowding them. No one was likely to pull up to Nice Slice at ten o'clock on a Monday night and park next to a van when it wasn't even near the door. No one had any reason suspect a delivery boy was servicing his Dom in the back. He didn't have to be vigilant about privacy or about time; the alarm was set. All he had to do was let Kurt suck him off for ten straight minutes.

As though they had all the time in the world, Kurt's soft, puffy lips pulled and roamed slowly, almost carefully over his cock, sliding up one side then over the crown and down again. His hot exhales traced Blaine's shaft like ghost touches. The tip of his nose brushed along, friendly. But he wasn't just nuzzling. His pretty lips caught lightly around the crown in a ring, letting him in and out again in a light dip that would've felt teasing if Kurt wasn't so obviously beyond it and didn't follow it with another tender suck.

Blaine – who was used to Kurt going after him with a desperate gusto, like there was always a timer he was racing against – hummed under his breath, surprised by the dreamy touch but by no means displeased. Kurt let out a huff against Blaine's stomach, and it seemed like a direct response, like Kurt was replying to the inarticulate noise with one of his own. His index finger and thumb braced Blaine's hard-on firmly as his mouth came off the knob with a soft pop, then sank right back over it, jaw stretching, so temptingly hot inside.

"God, you're such a sweet boy," sighed Blaine, heat creeping into his face steadily. "You wanna feel that pushing your mouth open, don't you..."

Kurt's breath tripped, then he grunted back around Blaine's cock, voice just a high-pitched catch in his throat.

"I know," Blaine muttered, fingertips scritching over the back of Kurt's sweaty neck. "You've been so good for me, Kurt. So obedient. You waited and waited. Now you get to have it. Does it feel good?"

The scrap of voice squeaked, and Kurt let out a huge gust of air through his nose, sliding Blaine deeper into the wet heaven of his mouth, tongue cushy and hot and slick with saliva against the back of his shaft. It stroked him, made him moan under his breath as Kurt dazedly locked himself into a rhythm, lips greedy and wanting to feel every last inch of him sliding past them and going slow in order to do so, savoring. He swept Blaine up into the hypnotic deliberation of it, the deliciousness of every last up and down, getting him so lulled that when Kurt's head tilted and his lips hit the brace of his fingers, Blaine gasped at the change.

"Oh – Kurt –"

His shaft alone was pulled out of his underwear and trousers, but Blaine felt utterly buried in Kurt's mouth. Kurt's grip was part of the all-encompassing heat, but Kurt capably held him in there, tongue pushed flat, for an extra beat before making his way all the way up again. The gentle tug of his sub's lips all the way back to the tip made him feel huger than he was, long, and Kurt's tongue knowingly gave it a soft, hot tease of a swirl. Kurt was so good at this. It didn't even seem fair. It gave his sub so much power over him, really. Kurt had him babbling under his breath.

"Kurt. Honey. God."

Just when Kurt seemed like he might be on the verge of picking up the pace, Blaine's alarm went off, marimba chimes interrupting the cacophony of their breaths and the wet slurp of Kurt's mouth around his dick.

"Uh," Blaine let out, attentions splitting.

He was tense, in the thick of heat like a glowing ember kept steadily stoked, completely hard. Falling under the spell of Kurt's slow pace had kept him totally mired and simmering. Ten minutes seemed like nothing, and had been nothing much, but Kurt had managed to make it seem like it could and would go on forever. How rude for time to suddenly gain its own meaning.

The alarm looped insistently, playing again. And then again. And again. The cue to stop kept coming, but Kurt acted like he didn't even hear the perky digital tones.

Blaine tried to center himself. It was the most enormously tempting feeling in the world to just silence the damn alarm and make Kurt carry on, service him till he got his prize. Who was he kidding – he wouldn't have to make Kurt do anything. He would graciously allow it. And he would totally blow it soon if Kurt came on any stronger.

"Time's up, sweetie," he managed, his crazy controlling patience kicking in. After all, he didn't want Kurt to get fired, or something. And truthfully, some part of him enjoyed exercising his authority over his sub, even if it meant stopping and denying his own hopeful body.

"Mmhh," Kurt let out around his shaft, just a reply that felt as good as it sounded. Blaine didn't have to hear that to determine that Kurt was confused, almost – lost in what he was doing.

"That's enough," Blaine panted, rubbing his shoulder with one hand and dismissing the alarm with the other. "You have to go back to work now."

In the absence of the irritatingly chipper marimba, the noise of Kurt's mouth sliding off him was downright juicy, especially when Kurt was up and sucked for breath through his wet lips. The air in the van, stifling with their body heat and damp with Kurt's panting, was still cooler than Kurt's mouth, and Blaine twitched in his hand, so hard, and covered with a light sheen of his sub's precome-thickened saliva.

"That's a good boy," he groaned, hands cupping Kurt's shoulders, neck, jaw. "Such a good boy, Kurt."

"Din' make you come," Kurt whuffled, the innocent pitch of his protest making Blaine feel even more like he was the center of the world.

"Hm-mm," he acknowledged sympathetically. "But your break's over."

After a dizzy pause, Kurt's head dropped to his hip. Blaine could feel disappointment hitting him hard as his subby pleasure receded and reality barged in.

"'M so sorry."

"I'm not," Blaine replied, squeezing at Kurt's shoulders hunched in his lap. He let his fingers slide into Kurt's hair with supreme indulgence – let them curl into fists and tug at Kurt's hair gently. "I'm not sorry at all. I loved having my sub come service me on his break."

Tensing under Blaine's hands, Kurt clutched at him and moaned. It was muffled, but Blaine distinctly heard, "Me too."

"Mm-hm! I know you wish I'd let you keep going. But you better skedaddle," said Blaine, letting his handful go and trying to be gentle about it as he took his cock from Kurt, squirmed, and stuffed it back in his underwear with Kurt's head still in his lap. "You have pizzas to deliver."

"OhmyGod," Kurt huffed, as if he hadn't realized what was waiting for him on the other side of his break. Maybe he really hadn't thought about anything else beyond the simple fact that he was going to be allowed to service his Dom, finally. "'M so hard."

"Aw, cutie," said Blaine cruelly. "Sorry. You'll just have to go back to work like that."

"I can't," Kurt whispered.

"No?"

After a pause, Kurt said, "No, I can..."

"Do you need to maybe sneak to the bathroom and jerk off?"

"No, 's – not that bad, I can handle it," Kurt panted, and pushed himself back. Blaine could see that his sub had barely fit himself between the middle seats, crammed himself up into Blaine's lap in an awkwardly tiny space. He'd knelt there for almost fifteen minutes, focused on servicing and not on what had to be uncomfortable. His long arms bumped the back of the seats, clumsy.

Moving and looking like a person who was only half awake, with his hair profoundly rumpled, Kurt balanced on his knees and tried his best to adjust himself in his jeans with his belt still buckled and his shirt tucked in.

"What if your boss sees you like that?" Blaine asked, somewhere between perverse teasing and seriously wondering.

Looking down at himself, Kurt just blinked uncertainly.

"Climb on out," Blaine instructed.

He tucked his shirt back in and managed to fasten his pants as Kurt leaned over and groped for his white visor, then obediently popped the door handle, sliding it open and shuffling his way out dizzily. His lurching made Blaine feel relatively smooth and light of foot as he followed, though Kurt seemed with it enough to offer him a supportive arm.

"Why, thank you, sweetie," Blaine said, as his boots hit asphalt one by one. Kurt let out a soft helpless noise.

Taking stock of the situation in the parking lot's light, Blaine shut the heavy van door behind him. Kurt's jeans and tucked in shirt were not doing him any favors. He was trying to smooth down his hair – sort of.

"Maybe you should tie a jacket around your waist, cutie-pie," he said with a smile, taking Kurt's visor from him and popping it onto his head. Kurt allowed him to ease the hat into a cute tilt that pushed his rumpled bleach-blond hair down again. Blaine slid fingers just under it to push strands of hair back behind his sub's feverishly flushed ears, admiring his whole state. His curvy lips were red, too, his mouth so obviously freshly used.

Blaine knew he himself wasn't any less red or glazed or boned in his pants, but he also knew Kurt's headspace was fundamentally different than his at that very moment. Even if Kurt wasn't so totally out of it that he'd reached that distant, heavy state of near uselessness that Blaine thought of as his subspace, he appeared primed for the disconnect, sort of foggy and out of sync.

Feeling simultaneously protective and aroused by the notion, Blaine clasped Kurt's hot cheeks, rubbing them soothingly with his thumbs, and murmured, "You're so perfect. That was perfect."

Kurt just looked down that slight inch or so at him, searching his face with some lack of understanding. His eyes widened a little as he realized Blaine was praising him, his gaze steadying. Blaine could practically see his spirits lifting.

"Aren't I a lucky Dom?" he persisted, arching a brow. "To have such a hot guy servicing me anytime I want?"

"Please – I wanna," Kurt whispered.

"I look forward to an encore," Blaine told him, smoothing his yellow lapels. He felt and heard the answering breath, Kurt's shoulders and chest sinking gently.

Frankly, he was still so damn horny that it was hard to not step in closer to Kurt and feel that hot, firm body up against his and just hump him right there in the parking lot. He need to be careful, or he really would get carried away. He looped his arms around Kurt's neck gently.

"Can you take a minute inside? Wash up? Splash some water on your face? Have a drink?"

Kurt nodded.

"Yeah?" Blaine asked, pleasure swirling in him just from Kurt's proximity and response. "Will you have a drink for me?" When Kurt nodded again, Blaine asked, "What will you drink?"

"Water," said Kurt.

"Good. Or you can have a soda, if you want. Whatever will feel nice."

He watched Kurt's brow pull, the expression only a tiny flicker of wonder.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Blaine murmured. "And you'll see me. Are you excited to come to my house and spend some time in my room?"

Eyelids taking a heavy dip, Kurt nodded quickly.

"I am, too," said Blaine. He let Kurt go, but his fingertips trailed across Kurt's broad shoulders, tweaked and tidied how the shirt sat on them, smoothed his sleeves, and rustled the light hair on his arms until he reached Kurt's wrists. He wrapped his hands around the cuffs firmly, signaling a demand for attention, and on a dominating whim said, "I want you to wear one of your jock straps. If it's too much to wear one at school, don't worry. You can just bring one with you to wear at my house. Can you do that?"

"Yes," breathed Kurt.

"Good boy." Blaine pressed a smooch to one warm, round cheek. "Better get back, now. I don't want to make you late. See you at school."

"'Kay," said Kurt dimly, moving away. Blaine watched him trudge in his Converse and cocked visor back towards Nice Slice, and could tell he was moving on autopilot, in some tipsy twilight state. Before he got too far, though, he craned and looked back at Blaine over his shoulder. His eyes skipped quickly up from Blaine's boots to his face, taking him in as though taking a final hit – one for the road. He added wistfully, "Bye."

Blaine, who had the freedom to go take care of the boner in his pants, smirked at him. "Bye, birthday boy."

*

Tuesday was a dewy day, cool and cloudy in the morning and warming after lunch when the sun started to peek from between the clouds. Blaine could feel a hint of the summer to come in the dappled sunlight.

The hours shivered by in excitable spurts, but time slowed down whenever he saw Kurt, who was wearing the little blue hooded shirt with yellow stripes on its sleeves that Blaine had so thoroughly enjoyed watching get soaked with come in the soft room. Kurt always managed to look like he was wandering the halls in a reverie that broke when he saw Blaine – he smiled, lit up, and came over to him like a puppy eager for a scratch behind the ear. Blaine was pleased that he didn't seem any more distracted than usual after last night. In fact, Kurt seemed pretty in the moment, for Kurt. But then, it was a special day.

To everybody else, it was a normal, boring Tuesday that was plodding on as per usual; the rest of the school was sadly ignorant of the fact that this was the day, seventeen years prior, that this beautiful boy had come into the world, born to be his submissive.

Okay, that was obviously not the way it worked, but Blaine couldn't help thinking of it with a particularly rosy tint.

He had been almost a year old when Kurt was born, and blissfully unaware of the fact that somewhere in Tennessee there was something important happening... unaware that he was different... unaware of everything, basically. It honestly seemed like there had never been a time that Blaine hadn't been painfully aware, but back then, he was just a chubby bundle of drool with mindless interest Fisher Price toys, just like every other one-year-old in the world. Blaine wouldn't put together the meaning of all the various little things that felt natural and instinctive for him till he was eight. When he had, he'd kept it to himself for a difficult, lonely stretch of years.

On the other hand, Blaine had been dominant since he was little, and that manifested itself quickly. Before he even really had a concept of domination or gender roles or any kind of understanding that wanting to play car wash with the boy next door could even mean something other than just wanting to play car wash with the boy next door, he'd been acting Dom in most of his short-lived friendships.

As a child, he'd had a hungry imagination and a gift for feeding it with elaborate games of pretend, but also a need to do things his own way, because his way was just better. It was always the smoothest sailing when he got to steer the ship. Some of his earliest hags had really liked his structured ideas and penchant for any kind of scenario involving dress-up. But he'd also alienated many a classmate by trying to tell other kids what to do and how and when. He was a stickler for detail and took those details seriously.

That had mostly been before his mom had died, though. Before the hospital was a time he knew was happy, but seemed sad in his memories. He remembered being at the library in the summertime, holding her hand inside, but carrying out a big stack of books outside into the July heat. He remembered hiding between skirts in her closet, touching soft fabrics, arranging her shoes by color; how she kept her dresser top neat with delicate barrettes and jewelry and her perfume bottle; putting on her silk scarves and sunglasses. She'd always understood him and known what to do with him in a way his dad was still trying to figure out, bless him; she'd never had a problem with him curiously getting into her stuff because she knew he would put it all back exactly where it belonged, unharmed.

Blaine barely remembered playing with other children after she passed. He must have... he knew he did. He was in school. He knew he had gone to birthday parties, had birthday parties (at Lima Lanes, no less). Organizing his own birthday fêtes was half of the reason to even have a birthday. He must have also tagged, climbed on jungle gyms, built things with blocks, had playmates. He didn't love to think about it.

The most outstanding, vivid memory of his entire childhood, due to repeated recreation, was a telling one. Blaine had a large number of games revolving around his Tickle Me Elmo. Whether cast as friend, sidekick, hero, or villain, Blaine made poor Elmo beg for mercy while tickling his batteries right out, devising scenarios and reasons for punishing Elmo for his laughing and shaking and making him laugh anyway. Even if Elmo was simply programmed to respond to poking and prodding and pressure, Blaine still loved getting a response.

Judging by the insane success of Tickle Me Elmo, Blaine probably wasn't the only kid who had gotten hours of entertainment out of it. But he hadn't known what that enjoyment truly meant until much later.

To his memory, the only thing he'd ever heard in his youth about Doms and subs was something akin to, "You'll be one or the other, and you'll know which when you grow up." It seemed about as basic, distant, eventual, and yet ephemeral as the ideas of falling in love, going to college, getting a job. But he'd kept to himself after his mom passed, and when middle school arrived, was already an increasingly unconfident, closeted loner who was afraid of what his own dad would think of him, let alone other kids. He'd never met another gay kid, so romance seemed as far-off as ever, and it didn't matter if he was a Dom when he needed to pretend to be in love with Rachel Berry to get by.

But oh, how times had changed.

He wondered what Kurt had been like when he was little. Maybe he'd been quiet and helpful, like Stevie, or an excitable bundle of curiosity with a fickle attention span like Stacey. Blaine could sort of see both of them in his sub, in shades.

"I hope you know I planned out exactly how I wanted to decorate your locker," Blaine said after school, contentedly watching Kurt load up his backpack. They only had to get through glee, and then he could take Kurt home with him.

"You were gonna decorate my locker?" asked Kurt, grinning. "Like the Cheerios do for football players?"

"Mm-hm, with balloons and confetti cannons and a cue for the jazz band to materialize playing 'Sixteen Going On Seventeen' from The Sound of Music," replied Blaine, only slightly exaggerating. "But I figured you'd just about die of embarrassment at such overt PDA."

"No," Kurt laughed, and shook his head sheepishly. "I get that locker decorating is, like, a thing here. But, uh, I'm kinda glad all my stuff's not covered in confetti. You know how you keep finding tinsel hanging around months after Christmas?"

"Yes, it is a little messy," Blaine acknowledged. A corner of a worksheet was sticking out of one of Kurt's folders. He reached over and tucked the rogue paper in so it wouldn't get bent up in Kurt's backpack. "However, fair warning – I can't promise my entire bedroom isn't full of balloons and confetti."

"As long as the jazz band isn't there."

"Oh? Do we need privacy for some reason?" Blaine teased.

"We don't really need it, I guess," said Kurt, smiling into his locker. "I can be your sub in front of them."

"Goodness," said Blaine lightly, a slow blush warming his neck. Of course, Kurt was his sub at all times. He was claimed, collared. It wasn't a secret and never had been. No matter what he was doing or who was around, Kurt submitted to him. But he'd noticed that Kurt often still professed a desire to be his sub anyway. For a little while Blaine had thought he needed reassurance, but the way Kurt still asked for it... it was beginning to sound like it meant something more to him.

"But I guess we have glee," Kurt said with a dramatic sigh. He shut his locker and offered Blaine his arm, biting down on a wonky smile.

Blaine took it, excitement simmering low in his gut.

Together, they walked down to the choir room, with Becky's distinctive voice calling, "Extra, extra!" around the corner.

She'd already foisted off a copy of some school newspaper Blaine had never heard of on him in chemistry, and he'd taken it just to try and mollify her and skimmed the front page. Newspapers were so 90s, he couldn't even. He had no desire to read badly-written articles about Coach Sylvester's latest plan for renovating the gymnasium or depressing interviews with teachers who were just hanging on till retirement. If it didn't have a big fat birthday announcement for Kurt in it, it wasn't within his scope of interests that day.

As they passed her, Becky pushed a paper into Kurt's hand, but after a glance, he dumped it into the nearest recycling bin, apparently no more interested than Blaine.

The choir room was mostly full, and everyone already sitting in the familiar red plastic chairs, waiting around for the bell to ring, save for Puck standing by Lauren Zizes, trying to get and keep her attention. At this point, Blaine was sure that Zizes totally got her Domme jollies from endless teasing, stringing Puck along with a mixture of promises and insults, but Puck was certainly bound and determined. Brittany sat in the back row, doodling in a little notepad with one of her kooshball pens. Mike and Tina were getting in some kissing before the bell.

"Pick our seats," Blaine instructed, in a soft voice just for Kurt.

"By Mercedes?" suggested Kurt.

"Ah, nice choice," said Blaine, who suspected it was purposefully made in deference to him. It was sweet Kurt seemed to care about him having friends as much as Blaine cared about Kurt having friends. Blaine climbed into the middle row and pushed his messenger bag under the chair next to his friend, who was slouched in her seat with her hands in her jacket pockets. "Hi, Mercedes!"

"Hey, you two."

Next to him, Kurt managed to get Artie to give him a casual high-five.

"Love that necklace and jacket combo," said Blaine, who always loved it when Mercedes wore black. It was, of course, slimming and universally flattering, but it also made her look more classy and mature than some of her more funky and bold neon outfits did. Her necklace looked like a sparkly chain, its chunkiness making it cool but its sparkliness really glamming up the whole look even though he knew it had to come from Forever 21 or Claire's. She really was the closest thing he had to a peer at this school, fashion-wise.

She sat up straighter, pleased. "Thanks!"

On the other side of Mercedes, Quinn sat with a notebook perched on her lap and a frown on her face, writing thoughtfully and paying them no mind. Blaine turned a happy smile onto Kurt, who was hooking his backpack's straps to his chair. It was because of Kurt that Mercedes had gotten over whatever problem she'd had with him, and now he wasn't even fielding constant angry side-eyes from Quinn. Getting them all to go bowling had proven to be a perfect way to melt the ice, even if that did involve Blaine throwing some frames.

With one hand, Kurt scooted his chair over till it bumped right into Blaine's, reminding Blaine for a split second of the way he'd pushed the box over in the back of the van last night, on his hands and knees to crawl to Blaine, looking at him with unshuttered eyes full of longing. He knew that Kurt would collapse next to him and put an arm around the back of his seat, which was still the height of PDA for them when it came to glee.

Instead, Kurt came around the front of the chair and tentatively wedged himself onto Blaine's lap.

"Oof!" Blaine let out, not just because of Kurt's weight but because it put an unfamiliar, unexpected knife right in his chest. No – it was more red-hot and tight, like something was grabbing his heart, wrenching it.

Next to them, Mercedes snorted.

"Kurt, you look like a big ventriloquist's dummy."

Kurt actually laughed. "What?"

It took Blaine a second to cope with the fact that his face was buzzing, his ears ringing with surprise. Kurt had simply taken one knee, like one of his little siblings would – issued himself his own invitation with the Kurte kind of trustful ease. It was totally out of the blue for his sub to do something like this.

As if Kurt was in danger of immediately falling off him again, he clutched at Kurt around the middle and around his long thighs, feeling awkward. He wasn't even used to having kids on his lap, like Kurt, let alone a tall, muscular football player.

"See," Puck said loudly, pointing right at them. "Anderson knows what's up! He can tell you!"

"Dream on, Puckerman," Zizes replied calmly.

"Baby, it's just lap action! You can't get pregnant, I promise."

"I'll have you over my knee when I'm good and ready."

"Ugh," Quinn let out, shooting one of her butthurt side-eyes Pizes-ward.

"Hot," commented Brittany.

Kurt, solid and muscular and too big for his lap, cupped his hand to Blaine's ear and whispered, "So Mr. Schue sees!"

Trying to forcibly bite down on the incandescent explosion happening internally, Blaine nodded at his guileless sub, teeth digging into his smile. He didn't want to make it obvious to the room that Kurt had never sat on his lap before. Mostly, he didn't want to give Kurt any reason to go back to feeling like he shouldn't touch him or indulge in any public displays of his own accord, but also, he wasn't ready to make people (Quinn in particular) think he and Kurt were any more abnormal than they already thought. He needed to act like this kind of casual display happened every day...

"So, what's new, Mercedes?" he asked.

Probably totally reading Blaine's discomfited face, Mercedes eyed him.

"Well, have you seen the Muckraker?"

"Becky's pretty much wallpapering the school with it."

On his lap, Kurt's weight shifted; he was leaning back, reaching for Mike for some reason Blaine couldn't sense, casual as could be.

"Some pretty interesting stuff in there between all the boring crap," said Mercedes. "Somebody on the staff definitely watches Fondue For Two."

"Me," piped Brittany from behind Blaine. "I watch Fondue For Two."

"You make Fondue For Two," Mercedes shot back.

"Yes, and I am also a loyal viewer," said Brittany.

That was when Finn's voice rang loudly from the doorway.

"What the hell is this, dude?"

He looked extremely tall and upset, and sounded like he might be close to kicking a chair. There was a copy of the Muckraker in his hand.

"'Which blondie former cheerleader is having a secret moonlight motel rendezvous –'"

Blaine felt Kurt's body stiffen, his spine jerking to uncomfortable attention.

"Where does it –" his sub tried to interrupt, slipping off Blaine's lap.

"' – with another big-lipped blondie??'" Finn plowed right over him, bringing the newspaper right to Kurt's face.

"Where does it say that?"

"Right on the front page of the school newspaper!" Finn snapped.

Blaine stared at Finn, and then at the paper Kurt was peering at, in confusion. He'd read the front page. How could he have skimmed past something like that? Surely there was some kind of misunderstanding. Kurt's lips moved vaguely as he found what Finn had quoted, and Quinn attempted to intervene, pulling at Finn's arm.

"You don't seriously believe this, do you?"

"Well, why wouldn't I?" Finn demanded. He turned his heated glare back onto Kurt. "Why wouldn't he do the Kurte thing that I did to him?"

"Because it's gossip, Finn," said Quinn shortly, and rolled her eyes.

Her gaze met Blaine's, finding him visibly confounded from the abrupt way Kurt had perched on him, then detached from him again.

For a single strange half-second, it was almost like he could read her mind, and she his. It was suddenly crystal clear that he and Quinn shared more than a secret. They shared a common desire to keep the secret. They had both been privy to Kurt's life in a very personal way. They had both been the object of his ardent dedication. And even though Quinn had been selfish and taken all that for granted, he knew she had to still feel something for Kurt to want to continue being his friend.

But clearly, they weren't the only ones who had paid a visit to the American Family Motel.

That tight-chested, face-buzzy feeling returned. Then Quinn's stare broke away again, and it was like it had never happened.

At that moment, Santana stormed in, newspaper clutched, angrily hurling blame at Brittany, and Blaine sat there, completely taken off-guard by the fact that suddenly, the choir room was full of angry people yelling about sensitive information. While Santana had thrown plenty of tantrums, he'd never heard her speak that way towards Brittany. He was more taken aback by it than Brittany seemed to be, even.

Finn wasn't done, though, and he wasn't about to let Santana steal his thunder. He erupted, "I swear I'm gonna punch your face off!" and lunged towards Kurt.

Blaine leapt out of his seat, but his sub reacted even faster than he did.

"Hey!" Kurt barked, shoving his stepbrother with a quick snap of muscle and unleashed anger that had Finn stumbling back. Words shot out of him like a barrage of machine gun fire, backed by another powerful shove. "You got a lot of nerve accusing me of cheating – "

"Stop it!" Quinn tried, struggling to catch Finn's arm.

" – when you're the one who snuck in –"

"Stop it, both of you!"

"– and stole my Domme!" Kurt yelled.

"Stop!" Blaine cried out with in unison Quinn, stung, but they were both completely drowned out by Mr. Schue's booming voice.

"Hey!"

Kurt's body moved in a threatening jerk that suggested he was about to pounce onto Finn, but Mr. Schue's body had parted the two anyway. One of his hands planted in the middle of Kurt's chest and directed him back. Kurt eased off in automatic, instinctive submission, but Finn turned on the spot and stomped toward the door.

Frustrated, Mr. Schue yelled, "Hey, Finn, where you going? We have rehearsal!"

"Not today," Finn shot back.

As if backing him up, the bell rang, and Blaine saw Rachel hovering by the doorway, watching Finn stalk past her.

Startled silence filled the room.

Rachel broke it, staring at Quinn. "Aren't you going to go after him?"

"No, Rachel," said Quinn, voice dripping with an exhausted sort of disgust. "I'm not going to reward that kind of behavior with my attention."

After an affronted huff, Rachel protested, "Well, we can't have rehearsal without Finn!"

"Of course we can, and we will," said Mr. Schue, clipped. "Sit down, Rachel. Kurt. All of you."

Breathing hard, Blaine sank back into his seat next to Mercedes, and with a sigh, Quinn moved to do the Kurte. Santana huffed audibly, instead wandering in a circle like she couldn't even believe any of this.

"Sorry, Mr. Schue, but I'm not going to sit," said Rachel, in a grand display of her typical aggravating dissent. "Someone has to go after Finn. Someone has to care about him in all this, and Quinn clearly isn't that person."

"Excuse me?" Quinn said sharply.

"Hudson's not your butt-boy anymore, Berry," Zizes had the balls to point out, her arms crossed.

"You need to stay out of this, Rachel," added Quinn.

"You can't stop me," replied Rachel, impervious to the tone and everyone's stares, turning and walking quickly out the door.

With all eyes turning immediately to her, Quinn hesitated, but batted her lashes like it was all just a mild annoyance. Blaine knew that along with everyone else, she was wondering if she had to renege on her decision not to give Finn's outburst any attention, now that Rachel had made a power play.

For one Dom to publicly go against another's wishes in regards to their sub – and declare their disdain so blatantly – was beyond insulting. And for all her misdeeds and falls from grace, Quinn still carried the clout of being one of the most popular girls in school, and there were signs all over school advertising her run for prom royalty alongside Finn, an unquestionable public claim. The Lucy Caboosey posters hadn't even done anything but help her look sympathetic. But if she lost Finn right before prom, her campaign would finally go down in flames. Blaine thought his eyes might fall out of his head. Even Puck was paying attention.

"Go see to your sub, Quinn," sighed Mr. Schue, freeing Quinn to silently gather her notebook and not spare a look to anyone as she left. "And Santana, if you aren't going to sit, then you can leave, too."

"Oh, gee, am I still here? Do people who aren't Quinn or Rachel have problems?" Santana said sarcastically.

"Kurt," Blaine beckoned, quiet but expectant, since Kurt was still standing there with his shoulders jacked up, on the edge of wild, with Santana walking angry patterns around him. After a wide-eyed beat, looking like he only just remembered Blaine was there, Kurt came to him, gaze dropping to the floor and sticking there as he took his seat.

"I don't know why anyone gives a crap about the latest slice of Fuinnchel hell when I'm being slandered in the media! This? This is libel!" Santana ranted. "This is a smear campaign! I'm gonna sue! I'm gonna sue this school up the butt!"

"Santana," Mr. Schue said sternly.

"Like, I don't even like Tegan and Sara! If you want gay, just follow the trail of Bieber hair right over to this giant straw-haired, dead-eyed, land-dwelling twink/fish hybrid!"

"Santana!"

She stopped in her tracks, darted an insulted look of revulsion at Mr. Schuester, and walked off, emitting a series of disgruntled huffs.

Mr. Schue stood there with his brows raised, looking at the group of kids that hadn't walked out of rehearsal as if he expected someone to say something. Blaine was sure if Coach Sylvester was there, she would have said something, at least about how deeply Mr. Schue's brows were wrinkling his forehead. She might have compared his face to a wad of Silly Putty that had picked up a print of Dagwood Bumstead then melted.

"Well," he finally said. "I hate to say it, but without our leads, we can't make much progress on our song-writing. On top of that, our piano player isn't here – another strike against us. We might as well take today off, clear our heads, and come back tomorrow with renewed energy and focus."

"Bomb," said Puck approvingly.

"We're going to make up for this missed time," Mr. Schuester countered, "with back-to-back-to-back rehearsals. I'll let you know when."

There were some murmurs of dissent, but Blaine didn't know who was bothering to complain. Kurt was stoic beside him.

"Now, you're free to hang in here or leave, whichever," said Mr. Schue with open hands, indicating the choir room, "but I'm going to the auditorium to do some work. I'll be back to lock up at five. You guys... this drama needs to stop. I'm disappointed, and frankly, I'm a little hurt, too. I thought you guys wanted to win at Nationals. But if you all can't get it together, we might as well not waste the money."

He picked up his folder, wherein their original songs in progress were stacked with fresh copies he'd made up for everyone, tapped the piano with it in disapproval, and headed back towards his office.

"Sweet," said Puck, standing immediately. "I'm outtie. My lady?"

He tried to give Zizes a hand up, but it was batted away. Brittany was next to stand, heaving her backpack over her shoulder and wandering out with her koosh pen in hand, leaving Artie behind totally. There was some shuffling behind Blaine.

"We didn't do anything," murmured Tina. "Why did we get the admonishment?"

"I dunno," Mike replied, "but I feel so guilty!"

"So, that blind item was definitely about you, then, big-lipped blondie?" Mercedes spoke up, standing.

"It's not true," Blaine hastened to say, glancing up at her and giving his head a dismissive shake.

"I mean, I'll take your word for it," she shrugged, "but the Santana item was true. Brittany confirmed it on Fondue For Two last week, but we've all always known it."

At this, Artie sighed and rolled himself away. As far as storming out of the choir room went, it wasn't nearly as dramatic as any of the other storm-outs, but Blaine knew it was probably the worst, because Mercedes was right – everyone knew Santana and Brittany were more than friends. At least Quinn and Kurt weren't actually hooking up behind everyone's backs.

"Oops," Mercedes said.

"Oh, boy," Mike said.

"It had to come up eventually, right?"

"Ahh," said Mike, declining to answer.

"Between losing one of my blue contacts and all this yelling, this has been a truly terrible day," said Tina. "Does anyone want to go grab coffee and cry?"

"Hell to the yes," replied Mercedes. "Except I'll let you do all the crying. I just want a mocha frapp."

"Blaine?" Tina asked.

"No, no, Tina, thanks. And this isn't a terrible day," said Blaine, aware that Kurt was frozen beside him. He really couldn't abide anyone saying his sub's birthday was terrible. "Just because Finn, Quinn, and Rachel are drama magnets and Santana briefly lost the ability to mention Lima Heights, it doesn't mean we did anything wrong. Don't let Mr. Schue's 'I'm so hurt' routine get you down. He's an adult. If he wants to win to Nationals so damn bad, he needs to handle his leads better, or stop letting Rachel dominate him into giving them all the vocals – let the rest of us handle it. We don't need to be so dependent on them."

"Snap," commented Mercedes, while Tina nodded in agreement and took Mike's hand. "There was so much truth in there. You sure you don't wanna come, Blaine? Kurt?"

"No, we're going to stay here for a bit," said Blaine with a light smile.

"Okay," she relented doubtfully, and walked after Mike and Tina.

It wasn't silent, then – there were still kids milling in the hall for after-school activities, and Mr. Kidney was sweeping up piles of discarded copies of the Muckraker. But it was quiet. Blaine, who was amazed at how quickly rehearsal had fallen apart, sat there not knowing what to say.

He couldn't say he was shocked that Kurt and Finn had gotten into a shoving match, but he was a bit blindsided that it was – still, as always, maybe even forever – over Quinn. Quinn, who had cheated on Finn; lied to him for months about him impregnating her; demanded money and support from him for a baby who wasn't his; constantly required effort and loyalty from him when she showed none in return. Quinn, who had run hot and cold on Kurt; picked a public fight with him before she'd even claimed him; reveled in controlling his desire for her until his endless obedience became boring; kissed her ex behind his back and lied about it. She'd strung both Finn and Kurt on, acting as innocent as a newborn dove.

He just didn't get it, and clearly never would. He got how the rest of the school continued to worship her, even after her pregnancy and leaving the Cheerios on the day of their championship and being publicly outed as a former fatty/uggo/cheater. But he didn't get her deep power over boys who knew better. He didn't get why they kept coming back. Was she sneaking them crack??

Instead of saying anything, he finally just looked over at Kurt's profile.

Kurt's eyelids fell shut under the weight of his stare. In a heavy voice, he said, "I'm sorry. I know you don't like it when things get physical. I just – snapped."

"You okay?" Blaine wondered carefully. "It... it didn't seem like the paper said anything about your family... just you meeting with Quinn."

"I don't know how anybody could know," said Kurt. "I haven't told anybody else."

"Do you think Quinn might've told somebody?"

"Hope not," said Kurt blankly. "She said she wouldn't. But who knows if that means anything."

"I'll talk to her," said Blaine.

"She won't admit anything to you."

"Oh," Blaine let out softly, nodding. "Right. I'm her rival for your affection, why would she?"

"Blaine –" Kurt finally looked at him, then burst out, "I know you're mad at me! I shouldn't have snapped at Finn. I know it was wrong... I mean, I saw your face. I know I disappointed you."

"Well, I'm not going to lie," said Blaine, sort of hoarse and flat. "I didn't find it thrilling to hear you call Quinn your Domme, and you did startle me. But I'm not upset with you. I understand you'll always love Quinn and always be hurt she didn't want you, and I know how obtuse Finn can be, too."

"... Isn't that something to do with geometry?"

"Dumb, I was really saying," offered Blaine. "Unaware."

"Oh. Duh," muttered Kurt. "Guess I'm obtuse too."

Blaine pulled in a calming breath. "Honey. Don't. You know I don't like that attitude, and if you keep going down that path, I really am going to get mad, mainly because I'll know you're pushing me on purpose. And I don't want to be mad. I just want to take you home with me and be with you for the afternoon and celebrate your birthday."

At that, Kurt inhaled, then turned his face away. Another awkward, breathy hitch of his chest told Blaine he was either straining to hold back tears or that they were already rolling down his face and he was trying to hide it.

For once, Blaine's sympathy didn't instantly move him to try and comfort Kurt, even though he really did want to. It was his birthday, after all, and he knew Finn could take a few shoves. Heck, he deserved them for acting like such a hypocritical ass. And Blaine had gotten a start from that motel item purely on the basis that he didn't want Kurt's guarded private life to get aired around McKinley, so he knew that Kurt had gotten an even bigger start – had gotten scared and defensive. Blaine wasn't trying to be heartless, but he sat there silently for a minute, letting Kurt sniffle and try and calm down, allowing his own jangled nerves to settle, too.

Finally, he stood and turned towards Kurt, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, sweetie," he said, his left thumb catching a tear on Kurt's chin. "Nobody reads the newspaper. I didn't even know we had one."

"People think I'd cheat," said Kurt thickly.

"No, no... they don't know you," Blaine told him. "They just know Quinn's reputation. It's gossip about Quinn, really. It's not about you."

"But now you think I love Quinn more than you."

It Blaine took a second to waveringly answer, startled further by Kurt's simple, almost thoughtless use of the L-word. "No... it's not that..."

"I was just pissed at Finn. He was my friend – or I thought he was. People told me 'bout him and Quinn. I didn't wanna listen. Now this? He puts it all on me? I didn't even – why does he hate me?"

"He doesn't hate you. I promise. He just couldn't lash out at Quinn. You were a target he could take his anger out on."

Tenderly, Blaine cupped Kurt's face, and Kurt allowed him to turn it, though he still persistently averted his eyes. His lashes were darkened and spiky. There was a quiver in his chin that probably came from stubbornly trying to keep the rest of his face tightly schooled.

"I'm sorry Finn jumped to conclusions like that," said Blaine, palming Kurt's wet cheek. "Quinn's majorly screwed him before, so he automatically believed she was doing it again. I mean, I'm not trying to defend his actions... he threatened you. But you didn't let him get away with it. That's all that happened. You don't have to look away from me."

Kurt's lashes lifted, and Blaine saw a flicker of his irises before they dropped again. "Sorry. I'm just – ashamed. I want to make you proud, but I'm not. I'm just a big mess. I don't know how t – t'be better. I don't deserve you being so nice to me. I don't know how to be a good sub."

"I want you to listen to me, Kurt," Blaine murmured, and took a ginger seat on him, side-saddle. It was about as awkward as having Kurt on his lap, but Kurt wrapped him up in a tight hug, so it felt just right, too. He rested his cheek on Kurt's hair and felt him bow his head, enjoying the strong arms around him despite the woe he could feel in the touch. "Being a good sub doesn't mean being a mindless robot who doesn't feel things or have their own life or thoughts or urges. Not to me. I know some people think subs should just be doormats... sometimes literally... but I don't.

"Not that I want you to beat people up... I'm glad you and Finn didn't actually start throwing punches. But it's good that you can stand up for yourself. I like that about you. I like that you'll stand up for what you believe in. I've never forgotten that you stood up to Karofsky. You impressed everyone when you did that, not just me. I..." He swallowed his pride. "I think you probably know that more than you pushing Finn, I just didn't like hearing you call Quinn your Domme. Even if it was past tense."

"It just came out like that. I wasn't thinking about words. I'm so sorry." Kurt sounded almost breathy with misery. "I don't think of her like that at all anymore."

"I know. It's... it's not even the words, I guess. I mean, I didn't like hearing them, but I know you don't think of yourself as Quinn's. I've just never seen you so upset."

"But I cry in front of you, like... constantly."

"Hmm, that's different, I think," Blaine told him, a smile spreading. "But crying's not a bad thing. Either way, it just means you care."

"I don't care – I mean, about Quinn. Not like this." Kurt's arms tightened. "I care how you think about me more than anything."

"Well, I'm happy my opinion means so much to you."

"I want you believe me, though," Kurt insisted.

"I do, sweetie."

"Please. 'Cause I mean it."

"I know you do. I know you care, Kurt."

"But I want you to be proud to call me your sub."

"I am."

"... But I acted out."

"Shh," Blaine said, soft and short. "No more about this right now. I'm going to take you home. Home to my room," he clarified, so Kurt wouldn't think Blaine was cutting their afternoon short. "Are you going to be a good boy and let me take you home?"

Bowing further, Kurt nodded.

*

At only half past three, no one was home – not even Finn. Blaine had been a bit afraid he'd find that Finn had come straight home and that Rachel and Quinn had followed him and that they were all standing in the living room yelling at each other, or something. But the driveway was empty and peaceful.

Blaine had memories of pulling a drunk and vulnerable Kurt out of his back seat the night of Rachel's party and leading him inside, simply thrilled that he was so compliant. He was such a cute boy, and getting to take him under his wing and even play at being Dom for the night had been a dream come true. He also had some particularly good memories (which came back to him almost every time he pulled his car into the drive) of sitting in his car with Kurt the day he'd collared him, the both of them riding some serious adrenaline highs. That had been a new beginning for them, for sure. Now it felt familiar to take Kurt home with him, but familiar in a way that had some pretty amazing precedent.

Silent much of the way home, Kurt had composed himself, sitting in the passenger seat and catching stray tears on the little blue sleeve stretched over his wrist cuff till they weren't spilling over his cheeks anymore. He didn't try to say anything, and Blaine didn't press him to talk. He let Blaine buckle and unbuckle his seat belt for him, signaling to Blaine that he had slipped into a subservient frame of mind.

It was quiet inside. Blaine took Kurt by the wrist, holding his collar lightly as he lead Kurt through the den and up the staircase to his room. He handed Kurt his messenger bag, and Kurt unquestioningly carried it over to the chair in the corner, tucking their things together in its seat.

"Thank you, cutie. Nice job," Blaine said indulgently, wondering if Kurt was thinking of the picture Blaine had taken of their things in that chair.

He watched Kurt wipe his hands down his thighs anxiously, eyes round and concerned.

Although he was trying not to make any firm decisions, Blaine didn't know what to think about putting his sub in restraints as he'd wanted to. Maybe it wasn't the day for it. Still, they had an unexpected extra hour with no possibility of his parents interrupting them. He couldn't help but want to take advantage of the birthday gift of time Mr. Schue had unknowingly given.

But the most important thing was just to smooth Kurt out, he thought. So Blaine said, "How about you just lie down for a few minutes while I take care of something... will you do that?"

"Where –" Kurt began in a froggy voice, which he cleared with a gulp. "Where do you want me?"

"On my bed. On your back. Nice and relaxed," said Blaine.

"... Shirt?" Kurt asked, sounding shy.

"Shirt on. Shoes off. Socks, surprise me," said Blaine with a smile.

Kurt mirrored his smile self-consciously and bent to yank his sneakers off. With some bemusement and achy fondness, Blaine wondered how he walked around with untied shoelaces so often. The uneven, loose feeling would drive Blaine nuts.

Once he'd lined his shoes neatly beside Blaine's hope chest, Kurt put himself on his back, scooting until he was in dead center of the bed. Then he looked nervous about the decision and peered at Blaine for approval.

"There you go. Are you comfy?" Blaine asked him, helplessly admiring Kurt's blue jeans, the stretch of his legs, his mismatched gym socks clinging to the soles of his feet. One had a gold toe, and the other toe was just white.

"Yeah – but... no, too," Kurt responded. "I know you don't want me to drag on myself, but if I'm being honest, it feels kinda wrong to be on your bed when I don't deserve it."

"I always appreciate it when you're honest with me, Kurt, and tell me your real feelings. I know you feel bad about what happened, and I accept your apology and want you to know that everything's all right. And whether you think you deserve to be on my bed or not, I put you exactly where I want you, so just try and think about it like that," said Blaine. He opened his dresser drawer and pawed aside some underwear, pictures, a travel hairdryer, and the vintage muscle magazines April Rhodes had gifted him shortly before turning him into a staggering daytime drunk. "If it makes you feel any better, though, there is a catch to being on my bed today."

As Blaine turned to him, closing the dresser drawer again, he found Kurt's red-rimmed gaze on him, alert. "A catch?"

"Mm-hm! You have to wear this," said Blaine, chipper, and stretched his sleep mask over Kurt's blond head, tugging it down over his eyes easily.

"Wh – 's this a – blindfold?" Kurt asked in a vulnerable way, his breath catchy in his throat.

"Uh-huh," Blaine said, trying not to snicker outright.

The Breakfast At Tiffany's-inspired mask had been hand-crafted by Tina as a gift for Blaine's last birthday, and it was kitschy and fun, teal satin with gold braided trim and thick lashes cut from black felt. He watched as Kurt reached up to feel the mask with his fingers, which stopped at the fan of felt lashes and patted them, clearly unable to figure out what they were.

"Hand down, please."

Kurt obeyed instantly.

Tweaking the presentation with his usual pickiness, Blaine eased a couple of his thicker pillows sheathed in tidy decorative shams out from behind Kurt, flattening him to the bed all the more, then stood back and examined him with interest. While adorable on principle alone, the mask was even more so on Kurt's face, its elastic band snug to his hair and the satin completely obscuring his brow and eyes, letting his plush pink lips take front and center. The mask was so incongruent with his jocky little outfit and shaggy hair, Blaine just loved the whole picture.

After only five seconds or so of silence, Kurt got antsy. He reached up to touch the mask again before remembering Blaine had only just asked him to put his hand down and quickly flattening it to the mattress again.

Blaine watched Kurt's head tilt and turn, lift and settle, feeling a sense of confusion and curiosity from the restless movements. With half of Kurt's face covered, he couldn't see exactly what kind of expression he was making, but it did remind him of how Stacey could only take so much sitting still.

"Can you see out at all?" Blaine asked.

"No. It's dark," said Kurt, one corner of his mouth twitching as he spoke, almost smiling. Kurt's mouth was so ungodly beautiful, Blaine felt a tug in his chest.

This was his sub. This boy submitted to him. This boy allowed Blaine to blindfold him – to tie his hands behind his back – to tell him what to wear, put him on display. This boy wanted to obey and serve him so badly he cried about it. This boy had sat on his lap in front of all their friends, regardless of any number of things that could have prevented him from even having the idea to in the first place. He wondered if Kurt had acted randomly or if he'd been thinking about it in advance and had made a move. He wondered if Kurt had liked it, or if it had felt better or maybe more natural to him to have Blaine on his lap.

Blaine reached out and brushed Kurt's arm covetously, gently pushing up his sleeve and watching his fingers slide over Kurt's skin and sandy hair, and then his thick camo-print wrist collar.

"Absolutely no peeking," he murmured.

"Why? What are you doing?" Kurt asked, his head tilting up so he could speak to where it must have seemed Blaine's voice was coming from.

"That's for me to know," Blaine sang softly, and gave Kurt's side a tender little tickle, since he was so defenseless.

Kurt jerked responsively, shoulder hunching and arm tucking in to cover his side. That had definitely startled a big smile out of him. "Hey...!"

"You be good – I won't hesitate to tickle you till you're begging for reprieve. Just ask Elmo," laughed Blaine, and bustled over to his closet.

In it, a bouquet of red and white latex balloons he'd had filled with helium at the grocery store quite early that morning were stuffed, still cooperatively buoyant. To be sure, they were no shiny Disney princess balloons swaying to 80s hair band jams in the breeze of constant air conditioning, but they were in the Cheerio tradition. Blaine had never been tasked with decorating lockers, but he'd noted the general school spirit aesthetic and decided to put his own spin on it.

As silently as possible, Blaine drew them out, trying not to make them bump noisily against each other. He cast a look at Kurt, who still had his face tilted up. He looked like he was listening carefully.

"So, anything in particular you want to do while you're here, birthday boy?" Blaine asked cheerily, hoping to distract.

Kurt's chin tilted down a little, his mouth bowing then flattening. His fingers curled into the hem of his shirt and gave it a squeeze.

"I just wanna be your sub," he said, hardly above a whisper.

"Ah, is that what you want," said Blaine playfully, as if he hadn't already known that. Coming over and spending time with Blaine in his room, as his sub, was what Kurt had specifically asked for.

As he'd put together plans for the day, Blaine had imagined both ends of the domination spectrum – Kurt, perhaps in his jock strap and excited by wearing it the way he'd been last week, butt all bare and exposed for whatever Blaine wanted to inflict on it... and Kurt fully clothed, just dozing off with his cheek on Blaine's shoulder while Blaine, oh, surfed TeenVogue.com on his laptop or whatever – and didn't know which was more like the mental picture Kurt had. Kurt had said it didn't matter if they couldn't mess around and vowed he would act appropriately, but it still seemed like Kurt was asking for something in particular.

"I messed it up, didn't I?" Kurt asked from the bed, sounding resigned.

"You're on my bed, wearing a blindfold," said Blaine, moving slowly as he weighted the balloons by their ribbons down with Kurt's discarded blue Converse high tops. "What do you think?"

"I think you're doing something you don't want me to see," Kurt responded. "Maybe you're changing clothes? Maybe you're naked!"

Blaine burst into a chortle, reaching into his built-in shelf for a half-hidden bag of confetti. "I know I'm tempting, but don't you dare peek, sub."

For some reason, that made Kurt stuff both his hands right up his shirt, as if that would help him resist the temptation to lift the mask for a peek. It was completely weird, and somehow childish and innocent.

Blaine tried not to laugh, but it didn't exactly work. He just giggled under his breath, littering red and silver confetti on the dresser, on the floor around the balloons, and over the trunk at the end of his bed.

Kurt had made a good point at school earlier, he soon realized, after attempting to be relatively neat. He was going to be sweeping and vacuuming this stuff up for the next week. So he stopped being chintzy and particular and sprinkled it all over the floor, and even on his bed in a shiny halo around Kurt's prone form.

As he rounded the bed, Kurt's head tilted to follow in almost an bird-like fashion; Blaine could tell he could hear the rustle of the bag, but was clueless about the confetti surrounding him.

"You're so cute with that blindfold on!" Blaine told him merrily.

That tweaky corner of Kurt's mouth pulled.

"Piñata," he declared, sounding like he'd thought he'd figured it out. It sent Blaine into another spasm of giggles. "... No?"

"I don't know!" he teased. "Maybe you're right!"

Kurt pursed his lips thoughtfully. He was quiet as Blaine pulled a poster board sign out from behind his dresser. It scraped loudly against the wall, obviously getting his attention, but Blaine honestly had no idea what he was thinking with his expressive eyes hidden from sight.

"So when you say you want to be my sub today, what does that mean to you, Kurt?" Blaine asked, heading back to his craft box for some Scotch Removable Poster Tape.

Kurt's fingers twitched under his shirt. After a pause, he said, nonplussed, "I wanna do anything you want me to do."

"Like... lie down on my bed for me?" Blaine persisted. "I know you said you don't deserve it, but you submitted anyway. Does that make you feel like an obedient boy, doing what I ask?"

"Yeah..." Just when Blaine thought Kurt was only going to give him that simple breathy answer, he added, "Being wherever you put me. Abiding by your wishes, listening to what you say. Making you happy. Making you proud."

"How thoughtful of you," Blaine purred, taping his poster up. "What do you think might make me a proud Dom?"

"I don't know," whuffled Kurt immediately. "Maybe... I dunno."

"Maybe what, sweet pea?"

"I don't know. Like, maybe... if you were gonna give me a check? But – I don't know if you want... that."

"Well, I like the sound of it. What kind of check shall I give my sub, hm?" he asked, unrolling another birthday banner. He knew perfectly well what kind of check Kurt was talking about, but hearing Kurt try and put things into words when there was obviously some kind of mental hurdle in the way was one of his favorite things.

"Any kind," said Kurt. "You can check me however you want."

"How true!"

"But, like... if you gave me a jock check..."

"I wonder what I'd find," said Blaine cheekily, giving the banner a once-over to make sure it was hanging level and even (it was; he had a gift) before making for the roll of red crepe paper in his craft box.

Bringing it up like that, no doubt Kurt had something to show him. But since they had this extra pocket of time, he was going to really do it up right and festoon the place with a few streamers. He'd planned to decorate the lane when they'd gone bowling, but Kurt had begged him not to make a big deal out of it and repeatedly insisted it wasn't a party, so Blaine had conceded, packed away the crepe paper, and focused on his cake pop planets. This was his last chance for some real birthday panache.

On the bed, Kurt wiggled a little. "Or if... if you wanted an encore?"

"An encore?" echoed Blaine.

"Yeah," Kurt breathed. "Of last night. I could give you one."

Keeping his movements deliberate and even so the noise of the soft paper unraveling wouldn't give itself away, Blaine eyed his sub, whose arms were twisted together under his shirt, the outline of his cuffs and their buckles clearly visible through the fabric, his fists gripping his shirt collar from the inside. The Holly Golightly sleep mask was still perfectly in place, and Kurt's legs were stretched out, completely relaxed, prone and forgotten. However, Blaine could see a telling rise in his jeans. His sub being openly aroused was a sight he was starting to get used to, but he knew he would never stop being delighted by it. Here he was, decorating, and there Kurt was, getting turned on at the prospect of servicing him.

"You would give an encore presentation just for me?" he asked, feigning pleasant surprise.

"Yeah, 'course, if – if you let me," Kurt said.

"I bet a sub like you would like that more than a piñata," Blaine replied.

"Lots more," said Kurt.

"Hm, me too..."

Kurt shifted gently in place, hips picking up for a tick, one shoulder rolling. The movement made him look eager.

"I'll do anything you want," he offered, sounding more certain.

"I want you to say what you want, birthday boy," Blaine returned.

Kurt sighed, his mouth opening around the short gust of air, but he cooperatively said, "I'll do whatever you want, that's what I want, really... but I – really wanna service you again... please, Blaine. Give you an encore."

"Hmm," Blaine hummed, as if thoughtful, taping down a streamer with a grin on his face.

After a long few seconds of either listening close to what Blaine was doing or possibly thinking hard, Kurt fidgeted and flexed, squeezing the twist of his arms, and gulped breathlessly, "I wanna make you come. If I don't deserve to, I get it, but I'd still be so lucky to use my mouth for you. I'll suck you off however much you want... I –" He huffed. "I wanna service you so bad."

All that had Blaine feeling breathless, too, and increasingly like he was wasting time draping crepe paper twists. "You do?"

"Please," Kurt said. He was flexing in his shirt like he was in a strait jacket or something. "I'll wait however long you want – do it whenever you want, wherever you want – in the car, or anywhere. If you just want me to service you on my breaks, I'll do it every night. Or however much you want. If you want, I'll make you come before the alarm goes off – and I'll swallow it all – please. If you let me. I want to. I promise I won't let any get on your clothes. I'll make you come and I'll swallow it all."

Blaine set down the roll of red paper on his dresser and stepped towards Kurt.

"Sweetie," he said lovingly, making Kurt's head pick up a little in recognition of the fact that he was nearby. Blaine dropped a touch to his knee cap, then dragged it all the way up his thigh, sliding along till Kurt's pelvis was thrusting up, straining in anticipation for him. "Ah-ah, down, Kurt – relax," he said patiently, grinning outright as Kurt exhaled, chastised but resolute, and let his body slump again. "Aw, there you go... that's my good boy."

He traced the lift of denim next to Kurt's zip, fingertips and then palm following the bulge of Kurt's cock in his loose-fit jeans. It had definitely grown since Blaine had noticed it, taking up more room.

"Blaine," Kurt breathed, mouth inarticulate, and lost some tension in his arms for a hot second before they flexed again, along with his whole core as he tried not to rock up.

"That's my good sub. I can feel how excited you are. Are you excited to be my sub?"

"Yes – Blaine, yes, please," panted Kurt.

"You just be patient and wait for me," Blaine said dotingly, hand pushing and rubbing at Kurt through his jeans. He was chubbing just talking like this, let alone giving his sub's helpless dick some attention. "I know when it comes to your Dom, you can wait so long."

"Yes, Blaine."

"You're such an obedient boy for me, Kurt, I know, but... if I take your arms out of your shirt, are you gonna use your hands to move your blindfold? Peek out of it?"

"I don't want to – but I'll do it without thinking," his sub blurted, "and I wanna be good for you."

"Oh, no, sweetie," cooed Blaine sympathetically, slipping his hand up to feel Kurt's strong forearms through his shirt. "We can't have that. Do I need to bind your wrists again?"

Kurt's body fell into a momentary lull, his belly sinking and his chest rising while the rest of him seemed to go slack. Blaine could hear him pulling in a lengthy surprised breath.

"Yes, Blaine," he managed, voice thick.

"What was that? Yes, you need to be tied up?"

"Yes – I need t'be tied up, if – if you want."

If Blaine wanted. If Blaine wanted. How could he resist? Even if he didn't have an under-the-bed bondage system at his disposal, he had his collection of scarves and neckties and about twenty belts and a set of spare hot pink shoelaces and any number of other things he could tie Kurt's wrists behind his back with. The possibilities were immediate and endless. He could take the case off of one of his pillows and thread that through the rings on Kurt's cuffs. He could take the ribbon off of one of the balloons floating nearby. He could use Kurt's belt, or one of Kurt's socks.

And there had to be other ways of making Kurt keep his arms down. He didn't have to actually tie Kurt up to put him in bondage. He could make it a rule. He could have Kurt put his hands in his back pockets and forbid him to move. He could make him keep his thumbs in his belt loops. He knew Kurt would try his best.

But he really, really wanted to tie Kurt to his bed.

After giving Kurt's arms a steadfast squeeze, he said decisively, "Give me your right arm, Kurt."

There was a beat of uncertainty over which arm was the correct arm, but then Kurt drew it from under his shirt and held it out in Blaine's direction.

The tiny thud of his hand pressing Kurt's cuffed wrist to the upper corner of the mattress was startlingly loud – or maybe that was just how Blaine heard it, like this righteous crack of thunder.

His palm was abruptly sweaty, seemed so hot on Kurt's wrist, the pressure he was exerting raw and unrefined.

Shaky with the sudden, pure, overtaking adrenaline slamming through him, Blaine held him there, hand insistent, seeking along the edge of the mattress for the empty clasp he'd left when he'd taken the original cuffs off the strap. It took him several seconds to find it and pull it out. Then there was a distinct metallic clink as he attached the hook to one of the D-rings on Kurt's wrist collar.

It was that simple.

Just stepping back and looking at the extension of Kurt's arm – completely resting on the mattress but stretched out from his body and up and held there for him – had him breathing hard. Even though his musculature was mostly clad in blue cotton, it was still evident and the presentation of it still beautiful. The seam under Kurt's arm had gathered a small shadow of sweat. Kurt's palm was upright and open and docile, fingers at rest in a curl. The shape he made was borderline Vitruvian.

Then, whether totally knowingly or just reflexively, Kurt tried to move his arm.

But he didn't get too far. His elbow bent and his wrist tugged at the strap, but he was caught; he couldn't move his arm back down to his side again.

Blaine hadn't tightened the arm or leg straps down at all, giving Kurt nearly a foot of spare strap to pull. Still, even given some slack, his hand was confined to the corner of the mattress and only had so much space to move in. He was well and truly attached, and even with his eyes covered, Blaine could still see the exact second he realized it.

"Uncomfortable?" Blaine asked intently, before he could get much further with this and lose his entire freaking mind.

"No – I just –"

For a second, Kurt seemed frozen, his mouth hanging open and his eyes shielded. Then his bicep rounded, flexing noticeably; he was pulling gently but steadily, processing the lack of give. His head lifted, then dropped against the pillow with a flump. Blaine watched him huff out, ball his hand into a tight fist, and try to drag his arm down, his other arm slipping out from under his shirt as the effort he was making took more of his attention.

"Left arm," Blaine said briskly, rounding the bed with quick, intent steps and giving his fingers a commanding snap.

Whatever he was thinking, Kurt unquestioningly stretched it up in a mirror image of the other. It put his hand at much the Kurte place in the corner of the mattress, completely at the ready.

"Oh, you know exactly what to do, don't you," Blaine chuckled. He found the hook and pulled the strap right up, this time brimming with confidence. Being physically forceful was neither his style nor forte, but he put a stern hand on Kurt's arm and held it there as he attached Kurt's cuff.

"It's not a scarf," Kurt muttered, his head tipping back. It was stupidly precious, how he kept trying to look in what he deduced to be Blaine's direction as if he could possibly make eye contact with that girly sleep mask completely obscuring half his face. He wondered what Kurt would give for a Phantom mask instead so he could see what Blaine was attaching him to.

"Not this time," Blaine confirmed, giving the hook a nice tug to make it clink lightly and signal to Kurt that he was all strapped in. Well, half strapped in, technically, he realized, trying to keep a tidal wave of dizzying arousal at bay. "Your collars are so good for tying you up, aren't they?"

As he had with his right, Kurt had to test his left, but this time he gave his wrist a much harder jerk and strained for several seconds.

"Don't hurt yourself, now, cutie," Blaine tisked. "You're not going anywhere."

After a moment, Kurt seemed to piece the full picture of his restraint together, both arms pulling with bent elbows, his mouth slipping open around quick, shallow breaths as his shoulders rolled and squirmed. His knees slid up so he could plant his socked feet against the mattress, exhaling as if he was suddenly alarmed.

Blaine could feel the sharp uptick in tension radiating from Kurt, as palpable in the air between them as a heavy, hot fog. Kurt couldn't have anticipated winding up in this situation even after agreeing to be tied up, or anticipated how it might feel; he hadn't dreamed for days about being manacled into this thing. He was only just starting to process the fact that Blaine had rigged something up to tie him to and that he probably couldn't get off the mattress if he tried.

As his sub's understanding grew, so did Blaine's smile.

"Now you won't peek on accident, will you," he murmured lovingly.

"No, Blaine," Kurt huffed.

"Nope. That's right. You can't peek. You can't use your arms. You're tied to my bed like a good little submissive."

Casually, Blaine reached for Kurt's somewhat distended zip, groping over his erection and listening to the sweet whimper Kurt let out, his knees slouching open in deference to the touch. For that heated moment, all his curious struggling halted. Blaine guessed Kurt could only really deal with one thing at a time right then. As soon as he'd satisfied himself that Kurt wasn't going to fall completely limp in the face of his situation, he let his touch slip away.

"Wait here. I'm going to finish up," he said, his voice just a fond, breathy drawl, and left Kurt there on the bed, blindfolded and restrained and quite hard in his jeans.

Twisting the crepe paper and creating streamers then became a complete pleasure, as Blaine could hear him panting and rustling softly against the bedspread, unknowingly surrounded by red and silver glitter as he squirmed and pulled at his restraints – slowly at first, then really jerking his wrists with some agitation that slowed down again after a minute.

It was just so right. Blaine wasn't even astonished by it, or at the depth of his certainty. He'd felt dubious about the restraints there for a bit, but seeing Kurt try and tangle himself in his own shirt was just too cute, too telling. Now that his worry over whether being restrained was too much for Kurt to handle had passed, he could see how obviously his sub took to it. He wasn't struggling in fear or hoping he'd be able to pull hard enough that he could free himself from the restraints. He was feeling just how restrained he actually was; he was feeling what Blaine had done to him in an extremely tangible, physical way and moving in the space Blaine allowed him.

Simply answering Blaine's questions and circling the ideas of inspection and service had gotten him roused, and Blaine could see him lathering himself up even more just pulling on his straps and wiggling.

"How do your arms feel?" Blaine asked, once he'd taken care of the last streamer in the merrily ridiculous arrangement that made his dresser look as if it was about ready to float away, but was held down on both sides by streamers.

"... Good," squeaked Kurt.

"You're a wiggly little sub," Blaine noted, satisfied.

"Mmf," Kurt acknowledged, then let out a gasp when Blaine took his belt buckle in hand without warning, slipping cheap fake brown leather loose from the clasp.

The button of his jeans was next, but Kurt still huffed in surprise when he felt it come undone. Without the sense of sight, he seemed to have no idea what was coming next, no matter how logical it was, which was more of a power trip than Blaine could have anticipated.

"Time for your jock check," Blaine told him, pulling his zip down deliberately. "Before you get so wiggly you make a mess of your jeans."

"Blaine," Kurt choked, the word barely even mouthed. The straps that reached out from underneath the mattress went taut, pulled tight by the tense flex of Kurt's body.

"Shh-shh-shh," Blaine let out comfortingly. "I know you won't come without asking me first... and look at this... look at my sub wearing this sexy little jock strap under these jeans! Let me see it, Kurt."

Eagerly cooperative, Kurt twisted, pushing his hips up and letting Blaine slide his jeans down, the white pouch of his jock stretching delicately over his hard cock.

It was so beautiful, Blaine could have died – not just the taut skin of Kurt's belly and the curve of his erection caught in the strap and thrust up invitingly, but the evidence of Kurt's obedience. Blaine didn't need to ask if he'd worn it all day. He just bet his sub had been eager to be able to wear it to school. He just bet Kurt had made a distinct effort not to succumb to the immense distraction he had last time. Kurt was the one who had suggested the jock check, knowing Blaine would find he had obeyed and wanting him to see. It was crazy that Blaine had created this moment of anticipation and satisfaction, this gorgeous sight, by telling him to wear it.

"You are so my good boy," sighed Blaine, which made Kurt groan softly. "Show me your abs, too..."

Because Kurt couldn't do anything other than let him, Blaine pushed Kurt's blue shirt up for him, exposing the climb of his happy trail all the way from the gray waistband of his jock to his navel. He didn't stop till Kurt's ribs were visible. Save the strap slung over his junk, Kurt was naked from the knees to his pecs, tense and vulnerable on the mattress, arms stretched open.

"Mmm," Blaine hummed, disturbing confetti as he climbed onto the bed and slid easily between Kurt's knees. "I'm going to be very thorough with this check, Kurt."

Kurt's head lifted, his wide-spread arms jerking uselessly when Blaine palmed the tops of his bare thighs. It fell lightly against the pillow again as Blaine's hands slid up to the dents beneath his hips, stroked at the firm elastic waist of the jock, and continued up his waist.

Without Kurt's eyes or even his brow visible, his expression was difficult to determine, and the tension in Kurt's body could have been mistaken for something uneasy if Blaine didn't know better. He braced himself against the touch, but Blaine could feel that Kurt was flexing for him on purpose, trying to anticipate where he would touch. He'd gathered his muscles just like this in the school bathroom, sucked his slim belly in and even clenched his cute little butt. It made him look totally cut, even though he already looked perfect to Blaine's discerning eyes anyway.

"Last time you wore a jock strap for me, you got so subby," commented Blaine, listening to Kurt breath catch, squeaky, in his throat. "I bet you've been wondering all day if wearing this means you're gonna get some birthday spankings."

His sub let out a little punch of air.

"You'd get seventeen of them, huh, birthday cutie."

Kurt's Adam's apple slipped over a hard-won gulp.

"Oh... and one to grow on."

Blaine gave Kurt's gray waistband an abrupt snap, right in the middle of his belly. Jerking, Kurt sucked in a gasp of surprise, his wrists clinking as his arms reflexively tugged against the straps keeping them up and open.

"Hmm? Did you think I'd spank you some more, sub?"

"I – dunno," Kurt managed awkwardly.

"Your butt's so tempting in this jock strap of yours," Blaine informed him, tracing the logo on the waistband. "Did you like me taking you to the discretionary? Bending you over the bed in there? And spanking your bare ass right there in the nurse's office?"

His sub moaned timidly. "Yes..."

"Mmm – 'cause you know I didn't spank you as a punishment. It meant I liked what I saw. Isn't that right?"

"I wasn't in trouble," Kurt responded. To Blaine's relief, it sounded like he'd actually absorbed what had happened, as blurry and zoned-out as he'd been that day.

"That's right. The opposite. You were perfectly obedient and pleased me so much, Kurt. It turned me on, you showing me your jock strap at school. Showing me your obedience. Showing me your body. I love your body. And I couldn't resist your sweet cheeks! I had to touch 'em... give 'em a little smack..."

"Mmf," Kurt agreed.

"And you certainly got yourself quite a few smacks, huh?"

"Yes."

"You asked for a lot," Blaine said, loving it, the tip of his finger following the simultaneously silky and wiry trail of copper-tinged hair that climbed, slender and sweet, up from Kurt's jock towards his navel. "You didn't know what it was gonna be like, but you still said I should give your ass however many smacks I wanted. Did you feel like a good boy, submitting to me like that?"

"Yes – Blaine – yes," breathed Kurt, wrists tugging.

"Mm, good," Blaine crooned softly, fingering the dip of Kurt's belly button right in his abs. "I don't spank my sub for punishment, do I?"

"No," Kurt answered with conviction.

"That's right. I spank my sub 'cause I own him and he needs to know it. And when he puts his bottom on display in a jock, he's just asking for a spanking. Begging to be owned. You need to be spanked. You're such a sub, your ass needs lots of domming. Is that what a sub like you needs, Kurt?"

Kurt tried to answer, panting and grunting incoherently before managing, "Yes."

"Those girls didn't know how to handle you. But I do. You're my sub," Blaine said, enjoying every single syllable coming out of his mouth, "and I'll dominate your subby little jock ass whenever I want. However I want. With whatever I want. My hand. My cock. Catcher In the Rye."

Kurt gasped, head nearly rolling off the pillow, "Thank you."

"Open your knees," Blaine demanded in return.

With his jeans still around his calves, it was awkward, but Kurt still did it without hesitation, sliding his feet up the mattress alongside Blaine and planting them there, rounded knees tipping open for him.

"More than that, sweetie," said Blaine.

Immediately, Kurt yanked his knees up. It took his sock feet off the bed entirely. One ankle overlapped the other as he strained to please, his knees to his ribs, showing off slender but defined hamstrings bulked and stretching in the backs of his thighs. His jeans hung around his ankles, totally in the way. Now Blaine could easily see where the white pouch of his jock met the straps that curved so snugly around his ass cheeks, and see those cute round cheeks naked on his bedspread – just barely still on it, with the way Kurt was desperately tilting up for him.

Blaine reached under Kurt's knees to brace his long legs, feeling tendons on edge against his thumbs. He'd made Kurt spread for him the day he'd collared him. He remembered Kurt drunk-ishly moaning that he liked spreading his legs for Blaine, already sweaty and heavy from two orgasms and yet completely eager to be dominated even more. A shiver of harsh arousal made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as Blaine panted and presided over the sweet shape of submission before him.

His sub squeaked, an upper body squirm making his glutes clench.

"My, that was a cute noise," Blaine drawled, delighted. "Tell me what it was all about."

"You're looking at me," Kurt answered breathlessly. "I mean, it just feels like you are – and I wanna please you, but I don't know if I am..."

Biting on his lip, Blaine ran his hand lightly up the back of Kurt's thigh, palming over to the inside of it where it was smooth, tiny gold hairs disappearing the further up he got. He didn't know if he could ever look his fill of Kurt's body, whether he was lying prone or had his face shoved into Blaine's mattress and his ass up in the air, waiting for attention.

"You are. I love looking at you. Your body is just – unbelievable, Kurt," he sighed, not sure Kurt could ever understand just how amazing it was for him to have a muscular jock at his mercy but knowing that Kurt needed to hear what he was thinking.

Even though Blaine had soaped Kurt up just about everywhere but his junk the morning he'd taken him from Santana, he'd made himself keep it strictly business, enjoying the firm planes of Kurt's muscles all slippery under his fingers but not lingering anywhere too long. Initially he'd drawn the bath for Kurt so he could just relax and get clean and go home without looking like he'd woken up still slightly intoxicated in the bed of a Dom to whom he did not belong.

But it had become something else after that fate-changing phone call.

Blaine had asserted his authority immediately. Rather than leave Kurt to bathe himself, he'd let Kurt know right off the bat that he was going to take care of him – and not passively, either. It had excited Blaine on a primal, dominating level to give that sort of attention to another boy and have him meekly welcome it. What a complete dream; what a far cry from Finn bristling and smacking his hand away if Blaine so much as tried to hand him a moist towelette. Kurt hadn't uttered a peep, but Sam had informed him afterwards that his sub had been silently on edge, feeling scrutinized.

He reached for the denim sagging at Kurt's ankle and worked the jeans off one leg gently, leaving his sock on, and then reached between his knees to urge them to lower again.

Obediently, Kurt let his legs ease and settle around Blaine, one mostly bare and all the more mobile for it, and the other tangled in denim. Blaine gave his thighs a rewarding caress, fascinated that Kurt responded to his touch so fluidly, with no visual input or directions other than the guiding pressure of his hands. And now Kurt was laid out for him, with his lanky limbs and long torso, abs freshly bunched from curling so obediently, strong curves of muscles wrapping around his hips and dipping low, and his jock strap riding even lower, fucking full of his hard cock. Blaine reached out and shoved his blue shirt up even higher, adding taut pecs and tiny nipples to the picture.

Kurt arched crookedly, aware of his stare.

"Beautiful," Blaine murmured, thumbing at the small, unassuming nubs of Kurt's nipples. They tightened right against the touch. Blaine paused and circled them for a moment, wondering if it felt good to Kurt. He remembered thinking that he'd clamp them someday. He gave them a curious little pinch, which got a better response: Kurt's head jerking up off the pillow. "Do you like that, little sub?"

" – Dunno," Kurt huffed after a flummoxed few seconds, dropping his head back.

"No? You don't know?"

After another firm pinch that got Kurt clinking in his restraints, Blaine left his sub's nipples tweaked, hands sliding down the columns of Kurt's abs. Kurt was panting, his belly sunk and the defined set of his abdominals and arc of his ribs rising over tiny, quick breaths. The grooves of his obliques beckoned touch. That skinny little trail of hair under his navel required ruffling. Blaine let his touch roam slowly, earning himself twitches and surprised inhales as he snapped the waistband of Kurt's jock and traced the shape of his dick, fingering the ridge of his knob over and over, till Kurt's breaths followed his rhythm, captive to it. As forgiving and stretchy as the pouch was, one little push had the bulging head of Kurt's cock popping right out the side, which made Blaine grin like the Cheshire cat.

"Oh, that's so good. I love it when you're hard, Kurt," he murmured, letting Kurt hear his immense pleasure. He'd told Kurt that what felt like a hundred times, wanting to get it drilled into his head that natural responses weren't ever something he was going to glare at, and he could see himself saying it a thousand more times. Kurt's legs and behind clenched, pushing his erection against Blaine's palm in a wordless plea, or maybe just a simple blind offering of something that his Dom was showing so much interest in.

Leaning onto his left hand, Blaine took him up on the offer. He rubbed at that hard dick through the light, stretchy layer of cotton, watching his motions make his shaft slide against the material and the bared head just thrust out the side even further, lewd and sexy as anything Blaine had ever seen. He palmed and stroked and kneaded and pushed at Kurt's hard-on under the pouch, listening to Kurt's exhales swell deeper, too, verging on needy. He slid his fingers low and squeezed gently at Kurt's balls, rolling them and making Kurt moan and lift his hips in repeated invitation.

"Ah, I know my sub likes this," Blaine teased gently.

His sub wasn't the only one who liked it, though; Blaine felt more and more arousal-stoned as he felt Kurt up with singular purpose, allowing Kurt to rub up against his hand. The tension in Kurt thickened and trembled, his balls increasingly taut.

Finally, Kurt blurted, "Please – I'm'nna – I'm too close –"

Stepping past his total thrill, Blaine elegantly shifted his hand right up to Kurt's sternum, fingers hot with friction and the heat of Kurt's need. He waited a few beats for Kurt to get ahold of his senses, then asked, "Oh, is your Dom playing with you gonna make you come, cutie?"

"Uh," Kurt let out, mostly just letting out air and tension. He shook his head, stymied, then said, "Please, I wanna be good. Should I – ask you to stop?"

Blaine pretended to give it a beat of thought, then declared, "Yes."

"Blaine," came weakly from Kurt's mouth. It sounded like the opposite of a protest.

"Good boy," breathed Blaine, satisfaction twisting up in his veins from head to toe. He let Kurt have another few moments to unclench, which he spent stroking his abs and then his thighs with light fingertips, feeling the indentations of his quads giving way to adductors. Then he let his fingers slip down to where the straps of Kurt's jock joined, and brushed the skin right under it curiously.

"Oh!" Kurt let out, just shocked air, his chest thrusting up as his knees tugged themselves open. "K – Blaine."

"Look at you, spreading your legs," Blaine cooed.

For a second Kurt's knees twitched inwards in an automatic waver of uncertainty, but he let them slump open again. Blaine nudged his tongue at his own cheek thoughtfully, watching Kurt's face like a hawk as he drew some tender circles on that delicate skin behind Kurt's balls. His mouth had dropped open. He bet Kurt had no idea how astonished he looked, slack-jawed like that.

"Remember what I told you about your ass?" Blaine asked him, enjoying himself far too much.

Kurt didn't waste a second, breathing, "You own it."

"A-plus," replied Blaine. The pad of his middle finger drifted over Kurt's hole, feeling the tightly-gathered pucker of it. "How 'bout this, Kurt? Is it mine, too?"

"Yes," Kurt blurted emphatically.

"Yeah? Your hole belongs to me?"

"Yes!"

"I can play with it all I want, hm. How does that feel?"

"Good – I – I want to be all yours," his sub said, pulling at his restraints and whimpering.

"Aren't you sweet," Blaine said brightly, and took his hand away again.

He could feel Kurt's confusion at the shift of attentions, but it was forgotten when he reached back up to gently push Kurt's jock aside.

Freed, his entire stiff shaft and balls leaned heavily, flushed and flustered. Blaine wanted to see the whole package, touch everything without the webby cotton in the way. He wrapped his fingers around Kurt's hard-on – and seriously, it filled up his hand so hotly, thick and rigid and on edge, that Blaine had to take a deep breath and tell himself to calm down. Looking at his sub's cock tower in his hand, Blaine could hardly believe he had any sense of patience and restraint when it came to touching Kurt like this. He wanted to pump this pretty meat till all the come Kurt had been holding back for him was shooting up his abs, copious and wet.

With gentle deliberation, he stroked Kurt's cock and listened to him gasp for air, knowing that behind that sleep mask, he was also torn, wanting to come – like any guy, a slave to his own drive. But as a slave for Blaine, he had a drive and a need that clashed completely with his libido.

Already wet at the tip, his dick let out a slow drip of sweet, clear precome that slipped between Blaine's fingers and made each squeeze of his fingers smack. His shaft was growing impossibly harder.

He finally gasped out, "Stop! Please!"

Responsive, Blaine dropped his dick immediately. It flopped, heavy and shining with its own need, against Kurt's waistband, so gorgeous, and Kurt arched off the mattress hard, every muscle in his body just as on edge as his cock. He looked about one wrong twitch from blowing, and Blaine wildly wondered if he might actually start shooting at any second.

After a few suspended seconds, Kurt slumped, letting out a high-pitched noise of relief.

"Good boy," Blaine whispered, relieved for him. Personally, he would probably get a deep thrill out of it if Kurt was so aroused and needy that he was utterly unable to keep from coming despite trying not to, but he knew Kurt would likely feel like he'd committed some kind of crime. Maybe someday, when Kurt was much more secure in his place, Blaine could play with him till he was pushing him over that boundary –

Because, God, he loved playing with Kurt like this, just jerking him off. It was such a familiar feeling, it made him feel close to Kurt just as a fellow guy, and it was so hot just to touch another guy's dick, let alone be the master of it. Quinn not wanting to go all the way, he could get; why on earth would she not want to stroke Kurt's dick till he was coming for her – or trying his hardest not to? Blaine was practically purring as he watched clear precome slide off Kurt's knob and onto his belly.

He ran the tip of his middle finger along a vein bulging along the back of Kurt's cock, but Kurt jerked and blurted, "Fuck, please, I'm still too close!"

"You haven't come since last week, have you, honey," Blaine murmured. "I'll give you a little break. Don't worry."

The breath Kurt let out sounded equal parts comforted and frustrated.

Sighing with pleasure, Blaine shifted one knee over Kurt's and eased himself down at Kurt's side, as he had become quickly accustomed to doing in the soft room and now liked to do so much. Kurt's face turned towards his. Now that he was closer, the red flush of Kurt's cheeks and neck were so apparent, especially since Kurt felt about as hot as a sidewalk in the summer sun. He bet the satin of the mask was burning against his sub's face with all that blushing, peaking body heat it caught and reflected.

"I am very proud to call you my sub," Blaine told him as he slid his knee along Kurt's and then pinned it down. "You look so sexy all tied up, trying so hard not to come, cock so boned and wet."

Kurt groaned, short and tight, and Blaine could see his cock jumping at the mention.

Totally the cat that ate the canary, Blaine luxuriated, gazing at Kurt's half-naked body and listening to his huffing breaths as he powered through them. Before they showed any signs of truly slowing down, Kurt panted, "Please, I wish you would let me service you, Blaine. I can feel you're hard."

"Oh – well, that sounds like an official birthday wish to me," Blaine said, nuzzling Kurt's cheek.

"Birthday wish. And unbirthday wish."

"You're really sweet-talking me into it," Blaine whispered right in his ear.

"Please, Blaine," Kurt responded, lowering his voice to the level of Blaine's. "Please. I'll do anything. I don't – have to come – I would rather – you come than me."

"Mmm," Blaine hummed, the complete rumble of it deeper than his voice usually wanted to go. "You really want to, don't you."

"More than anything!"

"Last night just whet your appetite, didn't it. You want to be given your master's come..."

"Y – yes – but –"

"But you'd love servicing my dick, even if I didn't let you have my come."

"Yes," Kurt whispered, his cock lifting right off his belly in a needy strain.

"When I got home last night after visiting you on your break, I practically ripped my pants open, threw myself right down here –" Blaine nudged Kurt's leg with his foot, "– and jacked off thinking about your mouth on me. Your soft lips. Your hot tongue. I thought about you having to get through the rest of your shift when I know all you wanted to do was suck me off. I thought about you going home and curling up in your little sleeping bag, dreaming about getting to have my dick in your mouth again..."

Kurt had gone rigid as a steel beam. He didn't even breathe as Blaine eased himself over, straddling his waist easily, with Kurt unable to do anything but lie there under him, straps making him unable to touch Blaine and body so clenched Blaine could practically feel him hoping and wishing. It was such a powerful feeling that Blaine just enjoyed it for a few moments, cradling one of Kurt's cheeks in his palm and kissing the other gently. Then he straightened and unfastened his jeans, his deep intake of breath at his cock getting jostled by the motions nothing compared to Kurt's excited groan.

"Yes – please – Blaine –"

"Listen to me, Kurt," Blaine said calmly, thumbing his suspenders down his arms one by one. "I'm going to let you have my cock in your mouth."

Kurt squeaked.

"And I'm gonna untie one of your hands so you can help get it in there just how you want it. But only one hand. You're not getting out from under me, you're not peeking, and you're not touching yourself. You're just helping me."

"Please," Kurt let out under his breath.

"Are you gonna behave for me, Kurt?"

"Yes – God – thank you."

"That's my good sub," Blaine murmured, leaning and managing to unfasten the strap on his right – freeing Kurt's left cuff.

Clumsily, Kurt groped for him, his arm even more gawky and uncoordinated than usual.

For a moment they both were just fumbling, Blaine with his jeans and Kurt with blindly trying to figure out what was where and what he could do to get his hand on Blaine. His fingers managed to find the waistband of Blaine's underwear, pulling it down insistently enough that the boxer-briefs slid right down his hips. Blaine moaned under his breath, shivering through the feel of Kurt baring him and his cock snapping up, rigid. He kneed forward, finding balance with one hand on his mounted headboard as Kurt desperately strained up off the pillow. Kurt's hand found Blaine's dick and lead it into his mouth as soon as he could.

The sensation was like a physical wallop.

Not at all prepared for how it felt – how he felt, straddling Kurt's chest to be serviced – Blaine let out a harsh half-shout. On his knees, with Kurt's biceps and chest right underneath him, he felt like he was pinning his sub. Even though he wasn't really putting any weight on him, he was so turned on by it he couldn't even think.

Kurt going down on him so eagerly just doubled the feeling. He'd worked Kurt right up into his usual frenzy, but right then, Kurt unabashedly plunging him into clinging heat and sucking like crazy just completely fit, like their headspaces were two interlocking pieces.

The absolute confidence that this was what Kurt wanted, too, spurred him to reach down and grip Kurt's hair.

"Good boy," he breathed, getting another punch just saying the words. "God, Kurt."

Kurt slurped around him, simultaneously clumsy and expert. His hand was doing what his mouth couldn't, just by virtue of holding him and helping to feed his cock in by pulling it with warm, eager fingers. Blaine had never felt anything so amazing in his life, which was saying something, since Kurt had serviced him several times now. But each time had proven successively better. Kurt was either as much of a natural as his lips apparently suggested, or extremely tuned in on some kind of subby level, remembering what had gotten him praise before and eager to try and earn praise again.

Also, Blaine was the dick service equivalent of a cheap date. No matter what Kurt did, it didn't take much for him to feel overwhelmed. He was nearly on the verge immediately, gut coiling its tightest, but he caught himself, clenching his jaw, and forced himself to take a deep breath, the calming kind he often had Kurt take. He was not ready for this to end. He wanted to tease Kurt a little – he couldn't help it – but the pleasure was just about soul-deep.

He looked down, saw Kurt's red lips wrapped around him and his head jerking, frantic but ecstatic, and that mask over Kurt's eyes.

"Easy," he groaned, fingers smoothing from the way they'd clawed into Kurt's thick locks.

"Mm," Kurt answered, humming short but low around his dick. The noise vibrated right into Blaine's balls.

"Easy... easy, Kurt..." Blaine repeated. "There's no timer today, sweetie. I won't take it away from you."

Breaths panting short from his nose, Kurt obeyed, slowing his roll and moaning to Blaine in a vulnerable way that made it sound like he was sorry and pitifully aroused at the Kurte time.

"Yeah... this time I'm gonna let you have my come," Blaine said indulgently, listening to his sub's restraints clink with a jerk of excitement.

The rhythm Kurt settled into was more careful, although Blaine had trouble finding it any less intense; Kurt's mouth was too eager to be anything other than perfect.

"You're so good at this," Blaine told him, breaths heavy and sighing.

Kurt responded with several little whimpers that Blaine could only hear as pleading as he serviced with some effort, head up off the pillow, trying to pace himself and trying to improve his angle, and above all, trying to please Blaine.

Eventually, he slowed even more, and Blaine instinctively moved to clutch the back of Kurt's skull, allowing Kurt to relax his neck a little. His tongue caressed Blaine's knob coaxingly, and Blaine tipped his hips, sliding himself into that wide-open mouth that was just waiting for him. Somehow that felt insane, criminally good, chasing his own pleasure – taking pleasure from his sub, however willing and happy he was to be giving Blaine that pleasure. He heard himself sighing with heat and kept going, even though he was taking the action from Kurt. He couldn't fight off the instinctive urge to fill that hungry, accommodating mouth. Possessiveness washed over him in hot waves that felt every bit as good as his cock sliding in Kurt's lips, and Kurt yielded readily to him, following the pace with his hand stroking encouragingly.

Then, as if submitting to his Dom even further, Kurt's fingers slid from around his dick to touch at his hip gingerly, letting Blaine simply have his mouth.

With the entire blow job abruptly in Blaine's control, he went taut from knee to shoulder, drawing the dreamy sway of his hips to a pause.

He ached, insides burning up, aroused like a reflex in him was getting incessantly jammed, but something in him was afraid he'd overwhelm Kurt, make him gag or choke, if he wasn't careful... even though he was dying to just take what Kurt was giving him. Shame filled him for even vaguely thinking of losing control like that. Blaine flattered himself that he gave everything he wanted to do to Kurt some consideration, but even so, he'd already wound up doing so much he hadn't foreseen himself doing in the heat of the moment, and he wanted things he wasn't entirely comfortable with wanting, and in a way, he was still getting used to letting Kurt service him in the first place.

It was his job to use Kurt, but not abuse him, Blaine reminded himself, squeezing the sweaty hair along the back of Kurt's neck. Being a responsible Dom was an absolute honor. It was his place to pay close attention both to his sub and to himself. It was his privilege. The control Kurt was readily giving him, the obvious surrender – Kurt trusted him, and that made Blaine bigger than he was, better than he was.

A rush of confidence tripped his trigger, powering his hips back into motion.

Blaine was rewarded with his sub letting out a sweet, groany sigh as he carefully pumped his cock past those perfect lips.

As steady as he'd jacked Kurt's cock, Blaine held him by the back of the head and fucked his mouth, watching carefully and gaining fluency in what he was doing with every successful thrust of his hips. He wasn't going too far. His sub could breathe and his mouth was open for it, cheeks hollowing gently as he sucked. And Kurt was touching him, his big hand wandering from Blaine's hip, curious. He identified the buttons marching up Blaine's denim shirt, stylishly off-center, and learned the gentle curve of Blaine's abs, touching him with a familiar reverence but also with that sense of palpable trust. Meanwhile his tongue flipped and flicked around Blaine's knob, the spectacularly wet noises that resulted making the blow job sound much sloppier than Blaine was actually allowing.

When Kurt's hand fell from him entirely, it was to grope up at the corner of the mattress and cling to the strap it found lying there.

Blaine stiffened again from the knee up when he realized Kurt was repositioning himself as if he was still tied down, coming on the spot with an involuntary cry.

He tried to halt his hips as he shot his load right into Kurt's mouth, but he couldn't keep from quaking rigidly. Kurt just snuffled and grunted, holding obediently still Blaine filled his mouth with fresh, hot come.

The shudder that left Blaine as soon as he'd emptied himself was massive, goose bumps rushing over his skin. His hand felt inarticulate and shaky as he reached down and popped his cock from Kurt's overly-wet mouth, not wanting Kurt to just choke on everything.

Arching, Kurt tried to follow his cock, wanting to cling but losing Blaine's knob from between his lips.

A strand of jizz slipped past Kurt's upper lip, clinging at the head of his cock and quivering in the air before it broke and landed on Kurt's damp chin, and Blaine flinched against an aftershock, dick still fully twitching in his hand and orgasm still fresh in all his cells.

"Show it to me," he whispered, hearing his own utterly demanding tone.

Slumping back, Kurt tilted his chin up and opened his mouth. Blaine's come stuck in thick strands between his upper and lower canines and coated the inside of his lips, white but bubbled with spit. It all slid rapidly to the back of his mouth, and Blaine thought he might gag or swallow it reflexively, but instead Kurt pushed his wide, stressed tongue out several times as Blaine waited and watched, forcing the load out on the tip. Each time, he managed to keep from letting it down his throat, even though it just slid right back there again, heavy and slippery.

The exhale Blaine finally let out dragged as if over gravel, rough. "That's a good boy. You earned every bit of that mouthful."

Kurt shut his mouth tight, but opened it again with the soft smacking of his lips and tongue and all that come sticking between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. It was unbelievably wet. The exaggerated curve of Kurt's Cupid's bow, tight on top and wide on bottom, stretched before his eyes, looking sensitive and puffy and gorgeous. Blaine watched Kurt's tongue curl under his teeth and push jizz around, watched him close and open his mouth again, and realized he was – messing with it. Maybe curiously, or displaying it for Blaine, or just basking in it, or something else equally hot that made Blaine want to just preen. Having a mouth full of come, he now knew from personal experience, was definitely a lot more than just having the taste of it on your tongue. He had liked tasting Kurt's in his mouth, but the texture and taste were both unlike anything else.

"You should feel like a very good sub with all that come in your mouth," Blaine told him. "You got to service your master, and look how good you did. And look how good you are at showing it to me. Do you want to swallow my come?"

Kurt nodded, letting out a breathy grunt. It no longer surprised him that Kurt did, indeed, want to, even if he found it strange and amazing.

"Swallow."

He watched Kurt gulp, having to take it in a couple of goes but otherwise making it look effortless.

"Let me see your mouth now," Blaine commanded, scritching Kurt's scalp.

Kurt opened up for him again immediately, tipping his head back and laying his clean pink tongue flat over his lower lip. Besides the white smear on his chin, there wasn't even a trace of spunk.

"Perfect," Blaine told him.

Deemed satisfactory, Kurt flattened his lips together, rolled his tongue clumsily over them, and breathed with shaky sincerity, "Thank you, Blaine."

"You're welcome," replied Blaine, feeling Kurt's chest lift in a responsive, aroused swell between his thighs. It made him chuckle indulgently as he hitched his boxers back up, cock still half-hard.

He quickly discovered he really didn't have the energy to tuck his shirt in and stuff all over again, so he just eased his jeans up and hung on to his headboard as he de-straddled his half-naked sub, suspenders hanging loose at his hips.

All over again, he was struck by the sight of Kurt's body, knees hitched and cock arcing out of his jock, red and hard as it could possibly be, his torso on total display and his arms uselessly flattened to the mattress. He wasn't even attached on the left side, but his left hand was fisting the strap tightly all the Kurte. The neat halo of confetti was significantly less neat, particularly where Blaine had trod, but Kurt was utterly unaware of it. He couldn't know anything other than what he could immediately feel or hear and discern for himself. His jaw and cheek were shiny with spit that had rolled from the corner of his mouth.

"Aren't you precious," Blaine said lightly, and reattached the strap to his cuff with a simple click. Then he affectionately wiped Kurt's chin clean with one thumb, watching the side of Kurt's mouth tweak in that half-smile, and sighed deeply as Kurt rolled his head and cleaned his thumb off for him in a couple of warm licks against the pad. "That's a good boy. You sit tight, sweet seventeen. I'll be right back."

Wanting more than anything to just take a snooze using his sub as a pillow, Blaine eased himself off his bed, casting admiring glances back at Kurt as he buttoned his jeans. He felt like a Peanut cartoon with pink hearts throbbing in the air above his head. Really, if it was a competition between him and Finn, he was the Sally Browniest.

Other than his controlling need to pull himself together after doing something like fucking his sub's face and the vague desire to clean that sweet face up, Blaine had no real reason to back away – just instinct. At his vanity, Blaine wiped his hands clean with a moist towelette, then returned to Kurt's side to wipe off Kurt's chin and the left side of his face, cleaning any tacky residue off.

"Thanks," Kurt uttered.

"You're welcome, angel," said Blaine, giving his cheek a tender pinch.

Then he lazily stretched and prepared to finally finish putting up streamers, giving Kurt a chance to squirm for him some more.

However, Kurt lay still, his head tilted towards Blaine but not fidgeting like before. He panted softly, low strains of voice touching his breaths here and there. He didn't even pull at his restraints, seeming content to lie in wait and rest. While the mask covering his eyes certainly helped keep Kurt in the dark (literally, judging by what Kurt had said), it made Blaine wonder what was going on in his head, too. Maybe nothing. Maybe he was floating in subspace, hypnotized.

It took Blaine a few minutes to catch his toes moving. It wasn't a twitch or a wriggle so much as a lengthy toe-stretch followed by a curl that crinkled his gold-toed sock right underneath his toes. The curl lingered, too, then relaxed – then his toes spread and stretched all over again.

Soon, it became slow, rhythmic flexing all the way up Kurt's leg. Blaine could see his butt tighten against the mattress and his pelvis lift minutely, heavily-leaning half-hard cock pushing into the air. Though Blaine was watching, he didn't think Kurt was trying to make his body look good – it seemed much more like that compulsive wiggling he'd seen Kurt do before, the kind that made him look like he was restless and maybe really needed to take a leak. This time it was sinewy and languid and dreamy, Kurt's hips rolling like his body was feeling something from the toes up.

Blaine didn't miss it when Kurt's elbow bent; the clink of the fastener in his D-ring wouldn't have let him. It was loud in the otherwise calm and quiet room.

Kurt sighed, then, deep and pleasurable, shoulders hitching and wrists tugging sensuously.

"Are you ready to be untied, honey?" asked Blaine.

Breathing out another downright sexy breath, Kurt shook his head. It looked a bit like he was trying to nuzzle his cheek into the pillow.

"Shoulder's okay? Arms not hurting?"

Kurt gave another sleepy shake of his head. Satisfied, Blaine rounded the bed to check the time on his vanity. If glee rehearsal had gone on as scheduled, they'd still have nearly fifteen minutes to go of suggesting lyrics for Rachel to shoot down and bitching over who got what solo line or harmony.

"Okay, sweetie. Then I'm gonna keep you tied up right there while I do my French homework."

That got a pause, followed by a deep lift of Kurt's chest.

"'Kay," he then uttered in a small way.

"Spread your legs," Blaine said, watching the small delay before Kurt processed the directions and spread for him, bare knees popping up and tipping open.

Blaine reached between them and gave Kurt's strong inner thigh a caress, and, as Kurt's bare behind was currently cozied up to his bedspread, he followed the fondle to his gracilis by giving it a domineering smack.

Kurt tensed right up, sucking in a startled breath, and he quickly opened up even further, giving Blaine access to even more skin.

"Good boy," Blaine told him, easing his palm in another warm rub to Kurt's thigh. After a pause, he landed another slap right over the Kurte skin, smiling as Kurt's dick perked before his very eyes. "That's a good sub. You can wiggle all you want. Maybe when I finish my work, I'll play with your dick some more. I can tell it wants more attention. Would you like that?"

"Yes," Kurt whispered.

"Mm, good. I'd love to stroke you till you're ready to come again. But you know what, birthday boy?" Blaine's palm clapped against Kurt's thigh, only the threat of another slap, but it made Kurt shudder sensitively and moan for him, clearly at attention. "You don't get to come till I say. You're going to spend your birthday being my obedient little sub. You might be going home and having your birthday dinner with your family, but inside you'll just be waiting and waiting and waiting. You'll spend your whole seventeenth birthday waiting for your Dom to let you come."

*

Blaine spent far longer than he meant to playing around with Kurt, teasing him physically as well as playfully.

He did his French homework, humming "Sixteen Going On Seventeen," and rewarded himself between conjugations with long looks at his sub floating and flexing in his own special world.

He got devious and pulled The Catcher in the Rye out of Kurt's backpack, curled up beside him, and read a chapter of it out loud to him while caressing his dick to full, ripe hardness again. Every so often he paused and demanded Kurt tell him what Holden Caulfield was griping about, forcing him to pay attention even as he totally distracted him. He had to turn a page back and start over a couple of times, and he could tell Kurt was trying even though he was overwhelmed.

At the end of the chapter, he had Kurt open his legs again and slapped the insides of his thighs a bit with the book, just playing with him. He even prodded gently at Kurt's balls with the book's spine, at which point Kurt seemed to utterly go under and lose touch with anything other than withstanding the fact that his Dom was prodding at his junk with his English novel. His responses fell into less-than-coherent noises that came in slow-motion. He writhed on the bed right against Blaine, against the book, without even seeming cognizant of the fact that he was gone, stripped down to nothing but his sub soul. He squirmed and moaned in a soft monotone for several minutes, even after Blaine tossed the book aside, responding to gentle pets like they were exquisite torture he could barely withstand.

There was nothing in the world like seeing his sub get so lost. It was exciting, but the excitement was both fueled and muted by a vast sense of fulfilled calm. It should have been impossible for Blaine to feel so connected to him when he seemed like he had left the building, but he was manning the tether that allowed Kurt float away so far in the first place, and that feeling in itself was almost the apex of everything Blaine felt he was meant to be and do with Kurt.

Eventually Kurt broke surface and rejoined Blaine's time stream, muttering his name repeatedly. Blaine tucked him back into his jock and pulled his jeans up again, replying to his muzzy sub with sweet nothings and asking him questions to help him slowly focus.

By the time Blaine unfastened the straps from his Kurt's cuffs, the room full of birthday decorations wasn't high on his list of things he was paying attention to. Actually, he'd kind of forgotten how many he'd put up, since he'd been paying so much attention to Kurt while he'd been decorating.

When Blaine lifted Holly Golightly mask from around his mussed hair and Kurt laid fresh, unsuspecting eyes on the balloons, he seemed confused. He stared around the room for so long and with such an uncomprehending gaze that Blaine actually began to worry that something about the decor had just totally destroyed his Dom game. There was an absolutely gross amount of streamers.

"Um, I know your jersey number's six," Blaine finally said, as Kurt stared at his hand-lettered sign that said Hummel is #17! – he'd done his best to capture the look of the sign a Titans fan would wave around in the bleachers. The other Happy Birthday, Playa banner was from the party section of the craft store, glittery silver and gold grill-style lettering on black plastic, and Blaine had found it too funny not to get, but it did seem super random now, with everything else being so cohesively rah-rah-sis-boom-bah.

"Is this for me," Kurt said after a long pause.

"Well. You wouldn't let me decorate for your bowling party, and I didn't know if you'd let me decorate your locker, either, so voilà," said Blaine, reaching out to help him sit up. "I told you my room was full of balloons and confetti."

He watched warily as Kurt shook his head once, like he couldn't understand. He looked at the confetti blankly. Blaine wondered if maybe he'd actually forgotten it was his birthday.

"Did I mention you have some stuff to open before you go?"

"But," Kurt said. "You already – I didn't... want anything."

"Oh, they're no big deal," Blaine assured him quickly. "Actually, they're kinda stupid. Never mind. You don't have to open them."

Kurt shook his head again. "... They're not stupid."

"Nah, they're lame."

"I know they're not."

"You don't even know what they are! They could be lame. Are you weirded out? You look weirded out."

"No. I. Dunno what t'say."

"I just got kinda carried away! I tend to do that. You might have noticed."

"You already give me everything, just being my Dom," said Kurt unexpectedly. "I know whatever you got me is awesome, just like all this is so awesome and the cake planets were awesome and you taking everybody bowling was awesome. I just – I only want to serve you... I don't need stuff."

"I know," admitted Blaine, reaching for Kurt's hand.

It became clear as he took it that it didn't matter if Kurt was technically untied – he was still in a completely submissive headspace. He had no doubt that if he wanted to, he could push Kurt back down and take him right back to Paradise City again instantly, and that was a really glorious idea, but he needed to exercise self-control and drop Kurt off to his family's motel soon so they could have their birthday dinner with him. He knew Kurt was looking forward to indulging in a hot dog.

Trying to purify his thoughts, he said, "I'm honored. Being your Dom means a lot to me. I just wanted to celebrate, and I really wanted to make a big deal out of it, because, well, that's the way I am. But also, you mean a lot to me. Not just as my sub, Kurt. You're a big deal in my life. I'd throw you a party every week, if it were up to me. But if it truly bothers you that I got you something and it's something that would weigh on you, I – I don't want to make you feel like I'm not listening to you. I'll return it, no further protests. I don't want my sub to resent me."

"I wouldn't ever resent you, Blaine," Kurt said, extremely heartfelt and naïve.

"You might, though," Blaine returned, thinking of Quinn. "I'm hoping that if we're always honest, we won't give each other anything to resent or regret."

"Honestly, I just want... you to be happy," said Kurt, shaking his head and lowering his gaze. "If you want me to have something, of course I'll take it. I have everything you've ever given me. I wish I could give you something."

"Well, hey. My birthday's in three weeks."

Kurt's eyes went round, making the fact that he was staring off into nothingness look extra funny. "It is?"

"Yep. And maybe for my birthday, you'll let me give you your birthday present."

"Um. Okay. I'm starting to think I better let you give me a present," said Kurt.

"Thank you!" crowed Blaine, happily leaping off the bed and rounding it for his hope chest. Kurt seemed incredibly relieved that he didn't produce a huge, heavy shopping bag packed with clothes the likes of which Quinn had given him. One was just a modest-sized blue gift bag, and the other was a small, slender rectangle wrapped in silver paper and blue ribbon, and they both fit in a single hand with ease. He thrust the smaller present at Kurt. "This one first!"

"Thanks," Kurt said softly, untying the ribbon with a sheepish smile. Blaine shut his trunk, then stood there importantly, watching him pry the shiny paper open and turn over a simple light-weight picture frame. In it, Blaine had put a copy of one of the pictures he and Kurt had taken together a couple of weeks ago. It was the one where Kurt had on his clean, beautiful toothpaste ad grin.

"I made one for myself and I thought you might like one, too," said Blaine. "You can stand it up traditionally, or take the stand off and stick it inside your locker. It's got magnets in the back."

"Thanks," Kurt repeated, more earnestly, running his thumbs along the frame.

"You're welcome," beamed Blaine. He waved the bag in a tempting back-and-forth in front of Kurt's face till Kurt took it from him.

"My mom might like it," said Kurt. He obediently settled the gift in his lap, still looking at the framed photo.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, she's a mom, so. She likes pictures."

"Oh. Right!" Blaine nodded. He was sort of the person who insisted on photo ops in his house. "Maybe she'll like this, too, then."

"Is it macaroni art?"

That got a chuckle out of Blaine. He watched Kurt, who looked curious despite all the objection, paw through the tissue paper in his gift bag and pull out a box that managed to look small in his hands.

"Fujifilm," he mouthed, examining it.

"It's an Instax Mini," Blaine said. He couldn't tell whether Kurt knew what he was holding or not. "It's like a little Polaroid instant camera. The picture pops out of the top. You don't have to get it developed or anything."

"A camera?" repeated Kurt. There was a picture of the little square camera on the front of the box, its ultra-smooth facade white and rounded.

"I know real pictures are kind of old-school," Blaine said, "but until you get your iPhone back, I thought it'd be fun if you wanted to take pictures and just have them immediately. You could put them in your locker, too, or save them and put them in an album someday, or give them to your mom, if that's what you want..."

There was a pause as Kurt held the box in his hands, just looking at it in a vacant way.

"This is awesome," he said, turning his big eyes up at Blaine. "I knew it would be."

"Do you like it?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah. It's cool," said Kurt with a lopsided smile. "It looks like you."

"It does? With my one eye and deathly white skin?" Blaine gave him an exaggerated wink.

"It looks like something you'd pick out," Kurt clarified. "It's cool like you."

"Oh! You think I'm cool?"

Kurt shook his head, and said with a profound seriousness, "You're so awesome, Blaine. Thanks for – this stuff. Thanks for... everything. I'm not... saying it right. I dunno how to thank you. I just – love it so much."

Thrilled, Blaine said, "You're so welcome, sweetie! Happy birthday."

*

When Blaine walked into school the next day, Kurt was waiting by his Dom's cracked-open locker, his little white camera held up to his eye. He appeared to be just casually peering around at random, maybe looking for a good subject, and when he spotted Blaine in front of him, he grinned and there was a flash.

"Hey, you could have let me fix my hair," Blaine complained good-naturedly, blinking away the spots in his vision.

"Your hair looks good," Kurt countered, invested in his film sliding out. His own hair was hanging down in his eyes. Blaine bit down on a smug smile as he reached into his messenger bag to unload a couple of books. "You didn't tell me there were six extra packages of film in the bag."

"Oh, were there?" Blaine said innocently. "Good. Extra film means if that picture looks anything like my driver's license photo, you have to agree to destroy it."

"And destroy my proof that ghosts are for real?"

Even though the joke was at his expense, Blaine cracked and giggled; Kurt's deadpan made him seem totally serious, but the slow smile he tucked down made his gratification at earning that laugh obvious.

Besides some goggles from Muckraker readers in the hallway and cafeteria, Blaine's day went extremely well, predominantly because Kurt was in an enraptured sort of mood from the get-go.

To Blaine's pleasure, he seemed extremely taken with his Instax Mini. He put his picture of Blaine walking towards him (and, yes, looking like the grim reaper, if the grim reaper wore stylishly long sweaters and knee-high boots) up with a guitar-shaped magnet in his locker, then asked Blaine to take another picture with him. Ms. Pillsbury, who was trotting by with her purse over her shoulder, was flagged down and seemed as pleased to oblige Kurt as Blaine was. Kurt walked Blaine to French, gazed at him with big adoring eyes as Blaine gave his cheek a goodbye caress, then went off to his first class clutching the picture.

There was more picture-taking at lunch. Kurt took a picture of the fruit kabobs Blaine assembled for him as well as individual pictures of Mike and Tina. Then he directed them into a picture together, which he gave to them to keep. He even asked Mike to take another picture of him with Blaine. Blaine was honestly trying not to look as smug as he did in the picture, but he really could not help his smirk and his arched brow and his real pleasure at Kurt using his film to capture them together. Mercedes and Brittany came to sit with them, so Kurt took pictures of them, too, and arranged his growing collection on the table in front of him like he was curating a glee club exhibit while gnawing pieces of fruit off his kabobs.

Blaine wasn't sure he'd ever seen Kurt quite so focused and content. It was almost weird. Not that there was something bizarre about his sub being wrapped up in something rather than tired and distracted, but if anything, Blaine had expected that Kurt might have a difficult day after the ups and downs and ups again of his birthday – or perhaps a "blurry" day, after being denied release.

When it had been time to take Kurt home last night, Kurt had gone weak at the knees, staggering at the foot of the stairs. Blaine had him sit on the staircase, fetched him a bottle of water, and watched him tip his head back and drain it like a football player benched on the sidelines. He admitted he got light-headed, but maintained that his shoulder didn't hurt at all and that he was good to go.

Then Kurt hadn't called him on his break. Blaine had called him, but the call went to voice mail. He figured Kurt must have been preoccupied with work or birthday stuff or both, or forgotten his phone. He had pushed Kurt enough times now to know that when he was feeling particularly submissive, he was also particularly distracted.

Blaine was hardly an expert in Kurt's thought processes, though. After yesterday's little Throwdown Showdown in glee, Kurt had looked like a deer in headlights, almost manic even though he didn't move a muscle after he'd obediently parked it. Everyone had been startled, though. Tina and Mercedes had called Blaine so they could get the latest on Finn (who hadn't come home till curfew, successfully evading Blaine's attempts to corner and lecture him) and the three had talked about it all for at least an hour. He almost expected people to be jumping down Kurt's throat about the blind item or for Finn to try and get in a punch somewhere, but nobody from glee said anything at all, and Kurt seemed like he'd totally forgotten about it.

Naturally, a comment came from Azimio during study hall, but it was just a warning to Kurt not to get Quinn knocked up 'cause McKinley didn't want no pregnant prom queen, and the scoff on Kurt's face afterwards was actually priceless.

The rest of the class, Kurt drew tic-tac-toe grids and enticed Blaine into games by scooting the paper at him and smiling the cutest, dreamiest smile Blaine had ever been on the receiving end of. He wrote please? or drew a smiley face followed by a question mark if Blaine didn't immediately move to put down an X, and Blaine gave in every time.

Study hall was always a time Blaine looked forward to – it was the most time he had in person with his sub over the course of a school day. They always ate together now, but the lunch hour was brief and they shared the time with Mike and Tina and Blaine always made sure Kurt had something good to eat. They also were both in glee, but they tended to be reserved with each other in there, or were otherwise busy singing and dancing. Depending on the teacher covering the period, which changed every week or two, sometimes study hall was a talkative free period. Sometimes it was quiet and most people really were studying or working.

Either way, Blaine usually wound up domming Kurt in some way. He'd lay Kurt's homework out for him. He'd help Kurt if he needed it, and Kurt would often finish something up and touch Blaine's sleeve to show him it was done, and Blaine would check his work. Sometimes he'd have Kurt forgo the homework and put his head down the table, and he'd let Kurt zone out or sleep. If the teacher was more on the laid-back side, he'd rub Kurt's back gently or fuss with his hair with a pretty immense feeling of satisfaction at getting some mild P.D.D. in front of any other kid who might be watching. Sometimes he and Kurt watched music videos on his phone. Sometimes Blaine wound up talking about something totally stupid that went over Kurt's head, like all the reasons why he still watched Gossip Girl even though it was so bad. But Kurt always listened anyway, and waited for directions.

He couldn't remember a single study hall where his sub had attentively devoted the entire fifty-minute period to flirting and playing with him.

*

In glee that afternoon, a familiar tiny blonde woman with a great spray tan was perched at the piano.

"Well hey, there, cutesy-buttons!" she said when she saw Blaine.

"April!"

"The one and only!" she beamed.

"What are you doing here?" Blaine asked, accepting an enthusiastic hug from her. Unsurprisingly, smelled like Captain Morgan's. "I thought you were on Broadway!"

"Oh, Broadway and I got intimately acquainted. We were livin' in sin for a while, but the sex got boring and the bills came due, so I was like, 'Catch you later, Broadway – I hear the bright lights of Lima and I just gotta smell me that ol' 'Stix stinkwater again!'"

Blaine felt his brow knit as he tried to figure out why that sounded weird to him, but snapped out of it under the insistent patter of April tapping him on the chest with a rolled-up piece of sheet music.

"Hey, now! Those muscle mags did you a world of good! What'd you do, order him from the back?"

She was staring at Kurt, who was right behind him, completely clueless.

"April, you haven't met my sub," Blaine was all too happy to announce, pulling Kurt forward.

"Oh, lordy," she said appreciatively.

Kurt stuck his hand out, offering a shake, but April just looked up at Kurt with a coy smile.

"Don't remember you from the showers. And I'd remember you," she said, touching the roll of sheet music to his arm and gazing at the tall cuff on his wrist. It was somehow a weirdly sexual caress, not altogether different than how Blaine had touched his arm the previous day. "Fresh meat, eh?"

Blaine took Kurt's hand and pulled it down to their sides, slightly proprietary, but kept his introduction bright. "April, this is Kurt. Kurt, April. She was in glee club for a week last year and gave me my first adult beverage. She's the reason I abstain and therefore way may well be responsible for my clear head the night I took you home with me. She's also the reason our auditorium is called the 'April Rhodes Civic Pavilion.'"

"Wow, you're the April from the auditorium?" Kurt asked, appropriately awed.

"Mm-hmm! The rich old pile of adult diapers I was tickling with my cat-o-nine up and croaked, leaving me a little cold hard ca-ching, so I decided it'd be fun to buy y'all a little somethin' nice. No biggie," she said, reaching out and pulling the zip on Kurt's striped hoodie down an inch or two.

"Please say you're re-opening Rinky Dinks," Blaine said eagerly. "It'd be the perfect place to have my birthday party."

"Aw, I don't think so, kiddo. But what I am going to do is help Mr. Schuester with his lesson today. You like lessons, Pufnstuf? I got plenty of 'em up my sleeve, but I bet I can break you in one."

"Ooookay, that's enough of that," said Blaine, steering Kurt away. "Let's sit down."

"You look like a crier," said April cheerily.

*

At 9:24, while Blaine was busily putting together outfit options, his phone rang. For the smallest second, his heart actually lifted in his chest, but it wasn't Kurt's ringtone. It was only Tina. He picked up anyway.

"Hey, Tina. What's up?"

"I feel like I should tell you something," she began, but stopped.

Although he detected something apologetic about her tone, Blaine's mind was still on leather shorts.

"If this is about Brittany and Artie breaking up, Mercedes beat you to the punch."

"No, it's not that."

Blaine waited impatiently, finally prompting, "So? What is it?"

"I know we've all had enough drama lately..."

"Suspense effectively built, Tina."

"And I know you don't like J.B.I.'s gossip blog –"

"Oh, ugh."

" – but there's some stuff about you on it."

"Me? Oh, finally, my day in the sun has arrived. I hope it's a 'Who Wore It Better?' scarf-off between me and Lenny Kravitz."

"There's stuff about Kurt and Quinn, too, I think. I just thought I should warn you. Now that J.B.I.'s working on the Muckraker, all this stuff is probably going to wind up in the next issue."

"And what lies did Jacob Ben Israel post about Kurt?" Blaine asked casually, his sense of worry for his sub's private life bigger than his distaste for Jacob's ludicrous online sanctuary where no one could downvote him or mark his comments as spam.

"There's a bunch of blind items, but they're all ridiculously obvious. 'For those keeping score at home, this former QB was spotted crossing the lines with two former Cheerios at Lima Lanes. Any way you frame it, he's split between Dommes.'"

"... All right, J.B.I.'s pun game is on-point," said Blaine, "but quarterback? Two Cheerios? That's so vague. How do you know it's not alluding to Finn?"

"Because it says 'Not Finn Hudson.' Here's another one: 'Which Belieber is so promiscuously submissive he serves multiple Doms?' A male Belieber, Blaine. Who else could it be?"

"It's still pure garbage," he scoffed.

"I know, but if you go through past columns, you find all the stuff that was in yesterday's Muckraker. J.B.I.'s had items on Santana since the inception of his blog, and his archives are like a whole keg of salaciousness he can tap for wider readership in the newspaper."

"Well, I'm not worried," Blaine declared archly, ixnaying leather shorts. They were more of a late autumn/early winter look. "Jacob Ben Israel is not a reliable source of information about anything. No one reads his site, and no one reads the paper."

"There's a couple of items about you and Sam," Tina said. "It looks like you guys have gone on some clandestine dates?"

"They're not clandestine – or dates! We're friends! We just grab coffee after school once or twice a week!"

"I believe you, but... between the Kurt and Quinn stuff and the you and Sam stuff... it looks kinda bad."

"Tina, I'll call you back."

"Okay. Sorry, Blaine."

Blaine sat himself down and opened his laptop reluctantly. Just taking a quick look wasn't the Kurte thing as giving Jacob Blog Israel a readership, he told himself, scrolling quickly past some creepy old videos Jacob had posted of Rachel from her daily MySpace serenade era, a rant about prom royalty, and a high-quality scan of the Lucy Caboosey poster Jacob had taken off the wall at school. He saw the items Tina had read to him, then found one that was pretty clearly about him and Sam.

This Dom is sneaking around on his sub with a fellow Dom from a private school. They flaunt their relationship publicly, but since they're gay, nobody cares, and they continue to get away with it.

Blaine didn't know why Jacob had bothered to post that as a blind item, since he was the only out gay kid at McKinley, but just under it, another item caught his attention.

Speaking of sneaky gays, which football stud was spotted coming out of Scandals? A "coming out" scandal would definitely jeopardize his chances of ruling the school.

"That does beg the question of what you were doing lurking around Scandals, Jacob," Blaine commented snidely to himself. Of course, there was the distinct possibility that Jacob had just completely fabricated the item, or that the football stud with a chance at ruling was someone other than Karofsky...

After scanning several pages back through pregnancy rumors, reports about break-ups, stupid hearsay about teachers, and a tepid investigation on the oddity that was Puck and Lauren Zizes, Blaine had just about read his fill. As guilty a pleasure as Gossip Girl was, Jacob's version of it totally lacked the slick sex appeal and fashion eye-candy that made it so enjoyable. This stuff made The Awful Truth look witty and mature.

Then he saw something that put an eerie pit in his stomach.

What hunkalicious sophomore is barely passing his classes? It seems before he transferred to McKinley, he attended a boys-only boarding school, where he was "head" of the class. According to reliable sources, he'd exchange his services for homework help. Looks like he's having a rocky time without constant tutoring!

Pausing, Blaine frowned at the words, reading them and re-reading them carefully and trying to think of any other person in the entire school besides Kurt.

Obviously, the item wasn't true... at least, not any more true than J.B.I.'s claim that Blaine was having some kind of fling with Sam...

But, like many of the items, there was a kernel of truth to it that had seeded the assumptions, exaggerations, and outright fictionalizing. Kurt had gone to an all-boys boarding school. Kurt's grades had dropped after he'd broken up with Quinn and lost his house, and they were often middling at best, anyway. Kurt was a sophomore, and he'd briefly been slated to play Rocky in their fall musical before it had gotten shut down. It all fit.

But he'd asked Kurt whether he'd ever given a blow job before becoming his sub. Kurt had said, No. Of course not. But they wanted me to. And Blaine believed him. He did.

At 9:46, his phone rang again, and Blaine quickly shut the Jacob Blog Israel tab and cleared it from his history for good measure, feeling gross for lingering on doubtful thoughts about his sub because of gossip.

He picked up the call, dismissing the feeling as decisively as he'd shut his browser tab, and said, "Hi, honey!"

"Hey," said Kurt. Blaine could imagine him in the driver's seat of his family's van, Nice Slice's lights shining nearby. "So – I had an idea."

"Tell me your idea," said Blaine, shutting his laptop and leaning back against his headboard. There was still confetti all over his bedspread, despite the fact that he'd tried to shake it off, but he oddly didn't mind the mess.

"Okay, so, my parents are driving out to Springboro tomorrow night. My dad's gonna meet with this guy about a job opening. I don't know if it'll amount to anything, but I guess it's worth a shot, or they wouldn't go. But I'm staying home with Stevie and Stacey, so I gotta skip glee to watch them, and I thought maybe you could come over and hang out for a little while."

"Like... baby-sit with you?" Blaine asked.

"I guess. I mean – technically, I'll be baby-sitting. You don't have to do anything. It's my job. But I thought, since, like... the room won't be super-crowded, we could just chill. Maybe work on that Fleetwood Mac assignment Mr. Schue gave us."

"... Together?"

"Yeah. Together."

"Like... to sing? Together?"

"Yeah," Kurt repeated slowly. "Is that okay?"

"Totally," said Blaine, who was grasping his chest. Baby-sitting? Duet? Parents out of town? No matter which signal was flashing, they all said the Kurte thing: Date.

"So do you wanna?"

"Sounds like fun," Blaine said, very casually.

"Cool. I miss you," said Kurt.

"Aww, you do?"

"Yeah. I just..."

Though Kurt trailed off, Blaine smiled and waited for him to scrounge up what he was trying to say, markedly more patient than he'd been with Tina. Now this was suspense effectively built. He played with one of the buttons on his shirt.

Kurt finished sheepishly, "I know I got to come to your house this week already. I just like being with you. I miss you."

Blaine chuckled, further surprised and fluttery. "My! You're in fine form today, cutie."

"I am?"

"Mmm, very fine."

"I guess I'm just – lucky. I get to do what you say."

"Lucky you," Blaine teased.

"You're my Dom! I'm so lucky." Kurt was quiet for a moment, then repeated somewhat helplessly, "I miss you."

"Well, I'll see you at school, bright and early."

"Yeah," Kurt admitted. "I just wish you were here. Or I was there. I wish I could be with you."

Blaine tilted his head. "You can't wait till tomorrow?"

"I can! I can. I promise."

"Well, you certainly sound excited."

"I am. I wanna see you. I wanna be good for you. Blaine – can... Can I..."

"Ask me," Blaine said permissively, although he thought he could anticipate the question.

"Can I please service you again tomorrow?"

"You want to service me... while we baby-sit?" asked Blaine, who had totally called it. And God, his dick was not averse to the idea. "Um, I admit, I don't know that much about kids, but I'm pretty sure Stevie and Stacey would notice."

"Yeah – I just – I thought maybe we could go out to your car for a few minutes? You could set your alarm and – use my mouth however you want."

A shock of arousal went off like a firework in his belly. "Kurt..."

"Sorry," said Kurt immediately. "I was ninety-nine percent sure you'd say no."

"But you asked anyway," Blaine observed.

"Maybe there was a one percent chance you'd say yes," said his sub. "I still like those odds."

Chuckling with a warm surge of fondness, Blaine reached down and squeezed at his stirring cock through his trousers. A few pieces of confetti fluttered to the floor as he slid down his headboard.

"I love your ideas," he admitted, "and I love that you asked. But if I let you service me in the parking lot and it wound up on the front page of the Muckraker, it might torpedo my chances of getting to spend time with you. I don't want to risk the time we do get for seven minutes in heaven. If it even took that long."

He heard Kurt sigh, but he sounded cooperative when he said, "I get it."

"You should know you got your Dom's dick hard saying all that, though," Blaine told him, listening with satisfaction at the deep breath Kurt took and then let out in a helpless exhale. "What do you think about that?"

"I wish I could – see it," Kurt replied haltingly. "I wish I could service it."

"I know you do. You'd do it whenever I let you, hm, cutie."

"Blaine," Kurt breathed, "please... all I can think about is sucking your dick, but I can't, I have to work..."

"Poor thing," cooed Blaine. He eased his zip down and slid his fingers into his pants to fondle himself through his boxers. He knew Kurt's greatest desire was to service him, but hearing him put it like that cut to the quick. Still, he said, "I'll let you go, then."

"No, don't," his sub squeaked.

"You sure?"

"... I have a few minutes."

"Then, since you can't do it tomorrow, how would you like to service me over the phone?" Blaine asked him.

"Can I?" Kurt responded eagerly. "What do I do?"

"How about you tell me?"

"I –" Kurt began, and stopped just as quickly. After a pause, he abandoned trying to figure it out and said, "Please help me. What can I do?"

"You're in your van right now, aren't you? Imagine if I opened the door and climbed in next to you," said Blaine, picturing it for himself just as much as he was creating the visual aid for Kurt. "Imagine I'm hard – just like I am right now. And imagine I told you I'd let you service my dick. What would you do?"

After a moment, Kurt said, "Get it out."

"That's a good idea," agreed Blaine, pushing at his y-front till it opened for him. "You'd have me in your hand... what would you do with me, then?"

"Smell you," said Kurt, inspiring Blaine's lips into a hazy smile.

"You like the way I smell," he said, remembering well that Kurt had said he smelled good. Just taking his cock out, he could smell it, but it just smelled like him – ordinary body heat and intimate skin that had spent the day hanging around in clothes. To think that Kurt liked the scent of something so inherently masculine was so hot, and he totally got it.

"Yes. I'd go down on you and – be your sub – and use my mouth to make you feel good," Kurt managed.

"You do make me feel so good," Blaine sighed, stroking himself with abandon.

"Are... are you, like, jacking off?" Kurt asked, tentative.

"Mm-hmm," Blaine moaned serenely. He didn't know whether it was a cruel tease or a kindness towards his sub to get himself off like this, with Kurt apparently pining for what Blaine held in his hand and completely unable to find any relief for himself, either. But it had for sure gotten him going to think of Kurt servicing him at his family's motel. He could just picture the view from his driver's seat of Stevie and Stacey's bikes parked by the porch, and imagining Kurt even wanting to do it within view of his family's window seemed incredibly wrong yet intimate.

"I get to listen," Kurt said, understanding dawning.

"Yup. And you get to help. You and your – mmh – sweet talk. Tell your Dom what you want, Kurt."

"I wanna service you! I want you to come and use me on my break again. Let me suck you off."

"Of course that's what a sub like you wants."

"Yeah. I have this big mouth so I can suck your dick with it."

"Jesus," Blaine uttered, startled, his dick twitching heavily in his hand and the rest of his body swooning from the lightning-crack of arousal.

Somehow sounding completely guileless, Kurt said, "If you want, you can hold me where you want me and fuck your dick in my mouth again. Or let me do all the work. Either way, I get to service you and suck you and worship you. Either way, I'm lucky."

"God, that's so hot, Kurt," Blaine hissed. He twisted his wrist mercilessly. "You're so hot."

"I want to be hot for my Dom. Please. It's hot to feel you hard in my mouth. And it feels so good to be your sub like that."

"Bet it makes you feel like – a very good boy..."

"Makes me feel like I'm your good boy," agreed Kurt in a huff. "You own me. I'm so lucky you let me be your sub. I'm so lucky to get to service your dick. I wish I was sucking it for you right now."

"You're gonna make me come, sub," Blaine said, hitting the calm certainty of the fact and letting that feed right into his pleasure.

On the other end of the line, Kurt choked and whispered, "Please. I wish you'd let me swallow your come. Or let me be, like, your come rag."

"Oh," Blaine breathed, "sweetie – fuck."

Kurt was silent as he shot off right up onto his shirt, maybe listening to his harsh staccato exhales or being jealous of his shirt without even knowing it for being his come rag. He coaxed out every droplet of jizz he had, letting each drip right onto his shirt, half thinking of how grateful Kurt would be if it was his shirt getting soaked, and allowed Kurt to listen to him release the last of the tension in his chest with deep sighs.

"God, good job, honey," he got out. "That was very chivalrous of you, helping to make your Dom feel good."

"Thanks," Kurt said, high-pitched. Now that his own body was loose and increasingly heavy, Blaine could hear that his sub was strung, piqued, his throat tight. He uttered in rapid mumble, "Thank you so much for letting me make you come."

"You're welcome," Blaine purred.

"I like it when you come," Kurt whispered.

Sluggishly, Blaine sighed, "Mm, that's 'cause you're a sweet sub. Tell me, angel, did you touch your dick while you talked to me about being my good boy?"

"Yes, a little bit... I had to stop."

"Aw, that's too bad, isn't it."

"I – I don't wanna hang up, Blaine. But I gotta go back to work now."

"Poor thing! I hope your manager doesn't see you and get any ideas about what you've been doing for me."

A breathy gulp.

"You need to come, I know," said Blaine. "You're waiting for permission like a good boy... do you want to ask me for permission to get off?"

It was something Blaine was fully prepared to give, but Kurt simply said, "No, please. I don't wanna come till you tell me to."

"Hm. When will I let you come, though?" mused Blaine dotingly, wondering if that would make Kurt change his mind. "Do you think you can keep waiting? I want you to be honest. You know I won't be mad if you need to come – I'm not Quinn. I know you can't help it. I know everything in your body wants it. You can ask me."

"You're so nice to me. I know I can wait, though," Kurt whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I won't come till it's what you want, Blaine. I promise."

"You won't? Not even in your little sleeping bag while you're having subby dreams?" asked Blaine, hearing Kurt gasp shallowly.

"I'll – I'll try not to."

"Isn't there some saying?" wondered Blaine, running the backs of his fingers up his own sticky shirt. He was a mess now, glistening with jizz, but when Kurt came, it was usually a huge load, since he didn't get off nearly as often as Blaine did. By comparison, this was nothing. "'Do or do not, there is no try?'"

Kurt sputtered a noise that Blaine had no idea to interpret, then whispered, "You just Yoda'ed me."

"There's your mantra for the rest of the week," said Blaine. "Know what else you're going to do for me?"

"... 'Use the Force?'"

"Hm, close," Blaine chuckled. "I want you to wear a jock strap again tomorrow. I've taken such a liking to seeing them on you..." Kurt groaned fretfully, but cut himself off as Blaine continued, "And pulling your cock out of them. It's just so easy for me to play with you whenever I want. I'm going to jock check you to make sure you're being a good boy for me. Do you hear me, sub?"

"Yes, Blaine," Kurt said, perfectly meekly, but he couldn't hide the eagerness of his speedy response under that soft, obedient tone.

"Good boy. Get back to work, now."

"Yes, Blaine."

"Good night."

"G'night."

*

"I saw that April lady in the parking lot," an attentive Kurt said the following morning, holding Blaine's messenger bag open for him as Blaine switched some books around.

"Really? She seems like the kind of gal who doesn't get up before two in the afternoon," said Blaine. "Ooh, wait! Was she wearing the Kurte thing as yesterday? Mr. Schue might've finally given in to her."

"I dunno, I didn't think about it, or even remember who she was at first. She was with Coach Sue and some other lady."

"Coach Sue? Why on earth?"

"I dunno. She saw me, so I, like, smiled at her, then she hugged me. It was kind of a long hug. It was weird. And she touched one of my collars. To be truthful, my whole point is, I kinda... liked it."

From the way Kurt's wandering, sheepish gaze then sharpened right on him, Blaine guessed, "You mean, you, like, liked it?"

"I didn't mean to," Kurt said quickly. "My dick did it on its own! Even though she reeked like that cough syrup Broadway cocktail Rachel made us drink at the assembly and I kinda feel like I'm gonna puke whenever I think about it. I hope you'll please forgive me. I'm not into her, like, at all."

Blaine wasn't so sure he should be smiling, especially since he didn't especially appreciate anyone touching Kurt's collars. But between Kurt's matter-of-fact reporting and the fact that he obviously felt guilty about his body being ready to spring into action, he sort of found the tale cute. And as long as she wasn't operating heavy machinery, pawning alcohol off on minors, or encouraging anyone to shoplift, April was... relatively harmless.

Shutting his locker, he said magnanimously, "Don't even worry about it, cutie. I think April hugs other people just to keep from falling down sometimes. But I'm sure getting a whiff of you on top of her morning bath salts started her day off just right."

"Thanks," said Kurt, trust in his eyes. He shouldered Blaine's messenger bag. "Now if the school newspaper says I was spotted canoodling with someone's mom, you'll know why."

"Yes, I will. Thank you for telling me."

"You're my Dom," was Kurt's sincere, half-whispered response.

Kurt walked him to French, slipping his hand into Blaine's of his own volition. Unable to help himself, Blaine reached over and caressed his cuff so the last person to touch Kurt's collar wasn't Lima's own personal Gold Dust Woman. No. Just no. He didn't miss the way Kurt casually pulled his messenger bag in front of him.

After lunch, Blaine snagged him by the wrist and took him to the bathroom by the choir room for a quick jock check. This time, they were hardly alone. Ignoring the shrimpy freshman at the sink picking at his zit-speckled face, Blaine took Kurt to the handicapped stall, unbuttoned his jeans and took a peek.

Sure enough, there was the now-familiar tall gray waistband with its logo, and Kurt swelled in his jeans, stiffening right up for him, days of pushed-away arousal surging right up under Blaine's eyes. Not caring that they weren't alone – or being, you know, appropriate – Blaine lingered, gazing at the shape of Kurt's cock caught in that neat white strap, tempted to reach in and play with it.

Instead, Blaine favored his sub with a satisfied smile, and Kurt's dizzy face shone.

*

After glee, Blaine raced home to grab a bite to eat and change clothes, thinking only of hurrying to his date with Kurt. He was paying so little attention that at the top of the stairs, he ran smack into Finn, who jerked in a floppy way and hid something quickly behind his back, blinking at Blaine.

"Oh, hey, Finn," Blaine said, blocking the staircase with one arm. His step-brother had managed to evade him all week. "Attack anyone's sub lately?"

"Listen, about that," Finn said hesitantly, realizing he'd finally been cornered. "Kurt isn't who you think he is, dude."

"Really? I think he's my sub and you were out of line, trying to pick a fight with him over a cowardly piece of gossip that isn't even true."

"I swear, I saw him this morning, hugging April Rhodes. She was all over him, and he was, like, pretty into it. Plus, Jacob Ben Israel swore to me he saw him asking Mercedes for her number, and Quinn told me he's not gay. She sounded so sure, and I don't get why she insists on it when Kurt being gay might help her case. Something seriously shady is going on with him. I think he's playing the field."

"I want you to think carefully about why you would believe any of this," said Blaine, "and don't talk to me like Kurt has anything to do with your reasons, because he doesn't. You know he isn't interested in Quinn. Gay or straight, he asked to be released from her!"

"I should've known," replied Finn. "You're on his side."

"Yeah, I guess if there's sides to this ridiculous debate, I'm pretty staunchly pro-Kurt."

"I'm just trying to protect you. I told Burt I'd have your back, and I don't want you to get played by this jerk!"

"Well, I'm touched, but how about you forget about me and Kurt and focus on your relationship with Quinn? You might want to bone up on your Fleetwood Mac-ology. Their tension and anger created something great. Meanwhile, your duet today couldn't have been any more forced and uncomfortable."

"Um, yeah, it could," Finn retorted. "It could be like watching you dom a guy who so obviously would rather be with a chick. Do you know what a joke people think the two of you are?"

Blaine could tell Finn instantly regretted letting those words vacate his brain, but they still landed with enough force to leave a crater between them, empty and gaping. In the ensuing silence, Blaine even fancied he could hear icy wind howling in the schism.

"Sorry," Finn muttered after a second that seemed like an eon. "I didn't mean to say all that –"

"Yes, you did," Blaine interrupted. "You knew exactly what you were saying. You chose the words that would hurt me the most. It's a pretty freaking massive leap from 'It's so cool you're into bondage, Blaine!' to 'You're a joke, Blaine!' So much for protecting me! Do you wanna maybe go call any of my furniture 'faggy' while you're at it?"

The atmosphere sobered even further.

"Dude... I said I'm sorry. You know I wouldn't say that word again."

"For the sake of our relationship as brothers forced by the cruel hand of fate to share a bathroom, let's not talk about this anymore," said Blaine, keeping his voice level. "I won't say anything about Quinn. You won't say anything about Kurt. We'll respect each other's relationship decisions, no matter how much of a joke we think they obviously are."

"All right, fine."

"Great. Debate over," Blaine said with a tight smile, slipping past Finn and into his bedroom.

As he closed the door behind him, he glimpsed Finn hurrying down the stairs, a pair of binoculars in hand.

"And you better be bird-watching with those!" he shouted after him.

*

When Blaine pulled up to the American Family Motel just after dinnertime, it was gray and raining and Kurt, Stevie, and Stacey were in the parking lot waiting for him. Stevie was on his bike and Stacey was jumping in a puddle with a ferocious energy, creating gigantic splashes as Kurt supervised. They were all soaking wet. The rain was gusting off the roof of the motel in sheets, but it looked like they'd been out in it for a while.

Despite the real dent Finn had put in his mood, the pouring rain, and innocent, impressionable children, Blaine couldn't help picturing Kurt servicing him here in the parking lot. He wasn't going to let it happen, but he couldn't forget Kurt had asked for it, either.

Blaine popped the umbrella he kept in his backseat and climbed out into the rain, carrying a foil-covered paper plate.

"Hi, Blaine," called Stevie, balancing a bare foot on the wet pavement.

"Hey, Stevie! Cool helmet!" Blaine called back.

Kurt swiped his hand through his soggy hair as Blaine approached.

"Are you getting flashbacks to our Singin' In The Rain/Rihanna mashup, too, or is it just me?" Blaine asked his sub, who was also barefoot. His jeans had been rolled up to his knees like he was intending to wade into the ocean. One of his v-neck white tees was clinging to his broad shoulders and biceps. He looked more like an Abercrombie and Fitch model than anyone had the right to.

"I'm s-i-i-ingin' in the rain," Kurt let out broadly, spreading his arms wide.

"You can stand under my umbrella-ella-ella," Blaine sang back, lifting it over Kurt's head. The pitter-patter of rain on the plastic made it feel like they were in a protective bubble together.

"I'm a lost cause," Kurt said. His face was literally dripping with rain, but he didn't seem fussed. "What'd you bring?"

"Oh, just a blatant attempt at bribery," said Blaine airily. "I want to make your siblings love me."

"I don't think you need to bribe them for that to happen."

"Kids do like Rice Krispie treats, don't they?"

"Yep," Kurt said, smiling at his sudden paranoia. "You can take 'em inside. I'm gonna stay out here for a bit and watch Stacey wear herself out, but you don't have to. I know you, uh, don't like your clothes to get messed up."

"I'll take them in," said Blaine, "but if you're willing to hang on the porch, I'll join you."

"Cool," grinned Kurt.

Inside, Blaine found that the room was rather more neat than the last time he'd seen it. No one was taking up space in it, for one thing, but also, the bed was made. Stevie and Stacey's blue and pink sleeping bags and backpacks were on it, clearing much of the floor save for Kurt's sleeping bag, which had been folded a couple of times. After gazing at its rust-colored exterior for a minute and wondering how Kurt could sleep on the floor every night, Blaine left the plate on the tiny table by the windows, which had been cleared, then sought out the bathroom for a dry towel. It was a bit more cluttered in there, though, and Blaine changed his mind, not wanting to pry through the Hummel' things.

Instead, he found what he was pretty sure was Kurt's clean laundry hamper. He picked out what proved to be another plain t-shirt and carried it out onto the porch with him.

"Ba-by, come here to me, come here to me," he sang out to Kurt, who hopped up the steps with bright eyes and consented to having his face, neck, and hair patted dry with the t-shirt.

"Thanks," he said with a sniffle.

"My pleasure," Blaine replied flirtatiously.

"Uh, do you wanna sit?" Kurt asked, pulling out a plastic chair for him. "It's dry."

"Oh, thanks. You know, maybe some afternoon when it isn't coming down in buckets, we could take Stevie and Stacey to the park or something," Blaine suggested, hanging the dampened tee over the back of the chair before taking the seat. "Ooh, and there's a dollar theater by the mall. Maybe we could all see a movie."

"That'd be great!" responded Kurt. "They're so sick of being in the room, but Stacey's hard to take places on the bus. She doesn't get that she can't walk around and thinks every time it stops, it's our stop. Hey! Stevie! Show Blaine your wheelie!"

"It's raining too hard," Stevie yelled back. "Makes my tires slip around."

"He was doing them earlier," Kurt told Blaine, and sat himself on the step nearby. "He just learned the other day."

"Aw, that's cool," said Blaine, who could hear the pride in Kurt's voice. "Maybe he'll show me some other time. Do you have a bike, Kurt?"

"Not anymore. We sold it."

"Aw. Sorry."

He watched Stevie determinedly pedal on. It wasn't too chilly of a rain, but it wasn't gentle, yet Stevie seemed happy to be out here hydroplaning, getting soaked to the skin and forcing his bike around in a little circle. Kurt's long legs draped over the front steps. He, too, seemed comfortable in his wet clothes, his bare feet getting rained on. He did tell Stacey not to sit in the puddle she'd become the mistress of, but she was already drenched, too.

"I hope none of you catch a cold," Blaine offered.

"Nah, it's fine," said Kurt. "Getting a little wet doesn't hurt you. Haven't you ever played in the rain?"

"Not really, outside of our wildly impractical umbrella number. Rain does bring some nice fashion options into play, though. I'm a big fan of raincoats, umbrellas, and galoshes. But not so much of humidity, mud, getting my hair wet, or being forced to forgo suede."

Kurt nodded, but said, "I like rain. So many cool songs about rain, y'know? That Cascades song's my favorite. 'November Rain''s good too. 'The Thunder Rolls.'"

"'Purple Rain,'" Blaine agreed. "'Set Fire To The Rain.'"

"Creedence has, like... eight songs about rain."

"Madonna's 'Rain.'"

"That's one of your favorites," Kurt said, looking at him with his big puppy eyes. "You showed me the video!"

"I did! An underrated gem from her flawless Erotica album. Dita is such an inspiration to me."

He didn't miss Kurt's pleased, puzzled smile.

Cars and trucks went past the motel at random, taking the highway carefully in the rain. Blaine didn't imagine many people felt like getting out into this weather. But his company seemed to find it extremely entertaining. It didn't take long for Blaine to start feeling like he stuck out amongst the group, the only one who wasn't tow-headed and soggy and, despite everything, sort of at home in the downpour.

Leaning over, he sighed, "Okay, okay," and untied his Docs.

"Are you going somewhere?" Kurt asked, watching him over his shoulder as he pulled his boots and socks off.

"I think maybe I'll see what the fuss over rain is all about," Blaine said. Copying Kurt, he rolled the legs of his trousers up his calves. "But I'm taking my umbrella. If my hair gets wet, it's ruined and I'm ruined."

His sub just smiled at him deferentially.

So Blaine wandered into the wet parking lot, stepping carefully around a rip in the pavement that had let out some gravel. It was really coming down, dancing on the faded paint that lined up parking spaces, but his umbrella was shielding his upper half nicely.

"Hey, Stacey," he called out, padding over to her. She was starting to warm up to him. "Can you show me how to make a good splash?"

"Just jump!" she chirped.

"Might as well jump?" Blaine asked, to the tune of Van Halen, and hopped into her puddle beside her. He made all the splash of Greg Louganis.

"No, you have to jump," Stacey told him, and demonstrated forcefully, with a bounce that had her sandaled feet slamming like a cannon ball against the water – all of which then landed on Blaine, dousing the front of his hemp jacket and pants.

After a second of shock, he burst out laughing, and heard Kurt laughing, too. It wasn't nearly as bad as getting splashed with a Big Gulp.

After jumping with Stacey for a few minutes, accepting her stylistic critiques and then helping her find a good new puddle, Blaine sloshed back to the porch, where Kurt was lounging on his elbows, draped over the steps like some kind of Playgirl spread and grinning.

"Not a word," Blaine said, feeling undignified. He was drenched from the waist down.

"What, why? I only have good words."

"Oh, sure, good words are allowed," panted Blaine, shaking off his umbrella and setting it aside.

"My first word is 'cute,'" said Kurt.

"'Cute' like when the choir from the Haverford School attempted 'Party In The U.S.A.' you mean?" Blaine laughed, sitting next to Kurt. His legs were whiter than Kurt's t-shirt, since it was damp and clingy on him.

"I liked seeing you just messing around," shrugged Kurt, smiling out at the parking lot. "You're usually more, like..."

"Fussy?" Blaine filled in, unbuttoning his damp trench. "There's another word for you. And you would not be the first person to say that, believe me."

"I guess – like, if that's what you say. But, like, besides how you never want your hair and clothes messed up, it's like you just... are guarded."

Surprised, Blaine sat in silence, hearing thunder rumble in the distance. Kurt must have heard it, too, because he stared up at the sky as if he might be able to see the thunder. Raindrops hit his naked toes.

They watched Stevie repeatedly ride his bike through a puddle, apparently enjoying seeing the tires slice through it.

"I have reasons to be guarded," Blaine finally said.

Kurt looked at him curiously.

"Yeah... obviously you have to have your guard up sometimes," he said. "You never know when people will mess with you at school. But you don't have to be guarded when you're just with me."

"Okay," Blaine said with an agreeable nod. It was a sweet sentiment, even if Blaine didn't think he guarded himself all that closely around Kurt. If anything, he let his guard down more than he should.

"I like seeing your feet," Kurt added.

"... You do?"

"Uh, I'm not, like, a weird fetishist or anything," Kurt said hastily, making Blaine realize his confused response sounded derisive. "I just haven't ever seen them. That's all."

Blaine let his feet slide down the steps and join Kurt's, then crossed his ankles, self-conscious. His feet were very pale next to Kurt's, and very big; Kurt's were more slender, and Blaine could also see that compared to Kurt, he did hold himself very particularly. Kurt's feet splayed lazily, as did his legs, whereas Blaine sat tightly, winding his ankles in an attempt at looking casual. He guessed Kurt really hadn't ever seen him so much as barefoot.

With "Jump" freshly remembered in his brain, it made him realize all over again that Kurt had missed out on a lot last year, like seeing him in a pair of loose pajamas, bouncing around and touching his toes in midair... not to mention strolling down the halls of McKinley during Gaga week, wearing gem-studded spacewoman heels and a wig. Last year, Kurt had been in some boarding school, fraternizing with boys 24/7...

"We're getting to know each other pretty well, right, Kurt?" he asked slowly. "Like... you know you can always ask me questions, if you have them. And you can tell me anything."

"Yeah. I know," Kurt said with a smile. Maybe he was remembering his April Rhodes Report from that morning.

"I'd like to ask you about something."

"'Course. I'll tell you anything."

"But you don't have to, if you don't want to. I want you to know that. As I said, I respect you. You're not my doormat."

"I promise, I'm not into feet," Kurt said warily.

"Please," said Blaine, nudging Kurt's foot with his own. "If you were, I wouldn't mind a bit. Lots of Doms love foot service, and my shoe collection gives me wet dreams. But that's not what I was going to ask you about."

"Okay. What, then?" Kurt asked simply, sitting up straighter and hauling himself easily into place beside Blaine.

"Your boarding school sub," said Blaine, eyeing Kurt's face. He didn't miss how Kurt's eyelids took an immediate dip. "Can you tell me about him? I've been wondering about it since I claimed you."

Shrugging, Kurt balanced his elbows on his knees. "It's not a big deal. He wasn't really my sub. It was this friend of mine. I thought I was a Dom, so... I dommed him."

"Like, just for fun?"

Kurt opened his mouth to respond, then sighed, mouth shutting again and pulling hard in a reluctant twist.

"I can explain," he began, like Blaine was busting him on something.

"Oh – honey, I'm not trying to interrogate you," Blaine tried.

"It's fine. It's just kind of embarrassing."

"Well... I won't judge you," he said. "You know that."

"Yeah. I know. You won't even be mad, probably. Just, there's something else I have to explain."

"Okay. Tell me whatever you want about it."

Shoulders hitching up, Kurt said, "Well. Till last year, I didn't think I was a sub, really – I had crushes on all kinds of girls, but where I went to middle school, a lot of people hadn't really, like, declared themselves yet. I kinda thought I was a Dom. But I didn't think it was important till I went to Brookside. Doms ruled that place. At McKinley, it doesn't matter so much whether you're a Dom or a sub. It's still about being the right thing, but it's more about the clothes you wear and whether you're a football player or a cheerleader. You can be a sub and still be popular on your own terms and be in leadership positions. Like Finn. But a sub would never be the team captain at Brookside. Not even for academic bowl. He could get picked by the coach and be the best person for the job, but he'd defer the position to a Dom."

"What a shame," Blaine said softly. "Some subs can be more organized and dedicated than any Dom."

"Yeah. It sucks and it's not fair, but that's the way it worked there. And a sub that made that kind of play could really get popular. Y'know, giving up something like that, rallying behind the right Dom. Stuff like that could cement a good team. You could pretend none of that stuff went on... orientation wasn't supposed to affect anyone. But it did all the time. And, I mean, the system served Doms," Kurt said. "So I wasn't complaining."

"Did the system make you want to be a Dom?"

"... Maybe. I mean. I wanted to be... confident. I wanted people to notice me. I did a lot of impressions people liked. And there was this one guy. He really liked them. He was a Dom and a junior and really cool... He was a captain on one of my teams. He got picked over all the seniors. He was really popular. Really cool."

"Oh," Blaine said, surprised by the fervent praise. It sounded like Kurt hadn't only crushed on girls. "Was he cute?"

"Um..." Kurt seemed confused about why that was relevant, but said, "Yeah. I guess he was, like, good-looking."

Blaine gave him a patient little smile.

"Everybody liked him, not just me," Kurt hastened to say. "Doms, subs. And all his friends were cool, too. He was the guy you rallied behind. And he liked me, or something. Not... like that. I don't think. But he – knew I was a sub. I didn't know, but he knew. I guess the way I looked at him... I don't know. Maybe I looked at him weird, or just looked at him too much. He didn't seem to care if I did. Like, he was just so confident. But one day I was in the showers and he came up behind me. I guess he thought I would just get on my knees for him right there. But I just – pushed him off me. Pretty hard. He bounced off the tiles. Conked his head. It became this big thing. We both got in trouble."

"Oh my gosh. That sounds terrifying," Blaine said, after swallowing a Karofsky-sized lump in his throat.

"I wasn't scared of him," Kurt said, with a resolute shake of his head. "I mean, I was kinda scared, but not of a fight or anything. I don't know. It just made me flip. I don't remember even deciding to push him. I dunno why I thought I had to. But I guess it scared me, like, inside. I'm still so freaking embarrassed about it."

"He's the one who should be embarrassed, harassing a naked, vulnerable freshman," Blaine told him. "He's lucky you didn't do worse than push him!"

"No, I know," said Kurt, staring into space. "I was just embarrassed 'cause I was... really proud I was buddies with him. But I was stupid. 'Cause obviously it wasn't like that, and everyone knew it but me. Everybody knew I was a sub but me. I just made a fool of myself. I – I don't know, maybe I was cruising him, even if I didn't know it."

"No, Kurt," Blaine said firmly. "You were not his submissive. He was wrong to approach you for that kind of thing without any kind of courtship. In public, too! Who does he think he is!"

"No, it – it just worked differently there," Kurt said insistently. "It was a thing! Nobody courted or claimed – all that was against the rules. Stuff happened, but... even when people knew, nobody talked about it. You could get expelled. I'm lucky I didn't get either of us expelled!"

Although it went against his every instinct, it was plain to Blaine then that Kurt wasn't looking to be absolved of guilt. Blaine could probably tell him all day long why this guy had no right to approach him for dick service and it would go in one ear and out the other. He was sort of that way about Quinn. Even though she had been the one to cheat on him, he put the blame on himself, because his Dominant was always going to be the rule-maker he served and above reproach in his heart. While Kurt obviously hadn't been claimed in any civilized way, this Dom he had admired so much had still apparently considered him on some level, and it sounded like Kurt had responded, too, creating a weak and fleeting but present dynamic of domination and submission.

Blaine didn't get what that was like, exactly, as his puppy love with Finn had been entirely one-sided, and the fact that Sam had responded to him as a Dom had Blaine on edge with everything he said. He didn't want to dominate Sam. All that spare energy was nothing compared to how he felt about Kurt.

"Okay. I get it, I think," he murmured, backing off respectfully. "It does sound different."

"Stacey," called Kurt. "What'd I tell you! Don't lie down in the puddle!"

"I wanna float on my back," Stacey protested.

"Cars won't see you if you lie down! You better get up, or I won't let you have the treat Blaine brought for you."

That got Stacey up.

"Attagirl," said Kurt.

"Um... so," Blaine pressed on tentatively, "did that guy make you realize you were a sub?"

"No! It just made me mad, and like, all defensive. It screwed up my reputation and all of a sudden guys were looking at me different, saying stuff about my mouth, calling me 'pretty boy.' 'Cock sucker.' All kinds of stuff, just laughing at me. I was like, 'But I don't get it. I'm not a sub. I don't put out those vibes. I'm a Dom – why don't people see it?' My roommate backed me up. He said I definitely came off like a Dom to him. And I let him say stuff like that to me for weeks. I let him treat me like a Dom. I mean... I dommed him. I liked it most of the time, even." Kurt pressed his hands to his face, hiding his expression, and groaned, "I feel so weird about it."

"You don't need to feel bad for the time you spent figuring out who you are," said Blaine. "Tina and Artie dated last year, before Tina realized she was not going to be dominated by any man. I know someone else who's a Dom, but he, um, has lately realized he might be down to switch. For switches especially, being confused is common."

"Yeah, it's fine, I know," Kurt repeated, his hands sliding through his hair, fingers uncomfortably curling. "I still wish I could take it all back. It went too far, all 'cause I thought I had to be a Dom."

"How far is too far? Did you guys hook up?"

Why Blaine even asked, he didn't know. He already knew the answer was yes, and it made his stomach hurt a bit. He was definitely relieved that Kurt hadn't submitted to a guy before, officially, and in a way, he was attracted to the idea of Kurt domming a guy. Mostly, he felt sorta threatened. He didn't have any real experiences like this.

"Kinda," said Kurt, solidifying the tummy ache.

"Can you tell me what you did with him?" Blaine asked. "If you guys had sex, it's my right to know."

"Oh, God, no, we didn't," Kurt replied, finally looking at him with worried eyes. "Mostly he just did stuff for me, like make my bed, hang up my clothes, make sure my laptop was always plugged into the charger when I wasn't using it. I let him tie my shoes every day, 'cause I'm so bad at it."

"And? What else did you let him do?" Blaine prompted expectantly. Kurt gave another shrug.

"He was kneeling down there already. He said there was other stuff he could do for me while he was down there. So, like... uhh. That."

"You can say the words to me," Blaine told him. "It's okay."

Kurt's gaze darted, and he lowered his voice, keeping it monotone. "Okay. He felt me up. I'd never... I dunno. But I got hard. And he sucked my dick a little bit."

"A little bit? That's still sex."

"No, it really wasn't, I promise. It was just for a minute or two. I mean, I thought I'd want something like that. What guy doesn't. What Dom doesn't wanna get service. And I tried to let it happen. I tried to enjoy it. But it was like I couldn't even concentrate. I had this massive guilt attack and stopped him. Like, what if I was treating him the way that other guy treated me? Taking advantage of him? Acting like it was just natural he'd wanna do that? What if he was just confused? What if he thought we were one way with each other, when I didn't think so? And what was I trying to prove? How does a guy being willing to service me make me a Dom? I still feel so guilty I for one second thought it was okay to act like his Dom. I stopped letting him do anything for me. I feel really guilty about that, too."

"That you didn't keep domming him?"

"Yeah. I kicked his pride square in the jewels, I know it."

Blaine put a reassuring hand on Kurt's back. "My sub, the heartbreaker."

That made Kurt laugh nervously.

"Did you ever think that maybe it felt wrong because he was a guy?" Blaine asked. At this point, he thought he could take it in stride if Kurt confessed that to be the case. "And you didn't want to submit to your teammate or dominate your friend because they're guys, and you just aren't into guys?"

"No. I mean. Yeah, of course it occurred to me," Kurt answered. "It'd be way easier if I could've just told him I'm not into guys. But I dunno. Obviously I give off major gay vibes. Everybody here thinks I'm gay."

"But that doesn't mean you're actually gay. And you don't have to be gay to find a guy attractive. Lots of people experiment. And when they're stuck long-term in places where there's no girls around, lots of guys will hook up just, you know, 'cause. Sex is something everyone wants. And it doesn't need to mean anything. Was that what was happening with you?"

"I don't know," Kurt whispered furtively. "I don't know. Maybe. I started off a straight Dom! Now I'm a gay sub? I don't know. What's right? I don't do anything right, anyway. I don't know how to be a Dom or a sub, and if I check out guys, I can't just be straight, but 'cause I like girls, you act like I can't possibly like you, too. I know it'd just be easier if I was one thing or the other. I know you wish I was just gay and I wish I could just tell you that's what I am."

"I like you just the way you are, though," Blaine told him, an echo of Bruno Mars in his head. "I know I've said this, but whatever you like is all right with me, Kurt, and it won't change anything between us, unless that's what you need. If you're bi, I can deal. If you're a switch, well – it doesn't surprise me. It must be confusing to be attracted to both girls and guys. And to like both domming and subbing. I have to admit, it's hard for me to imagine. But it sounds tough to try and figure it all out. And it sounds like you let your friend down as easy as you knew how, under the circumstances. Like you did with Rachel."

"I still feel like I did everything wrong – I feel like I'm a freak," he huffed. "I dunno what's wrong with me. It's like I have no control over my own brain or body. It's weird. I'm weird. I'm so sorry, Blaine."

"You don't need to apologize to me," Blaine said, rubbing Kurt between the shoulder blades. "The more I learn about you, the happier I am to have you as my sub."

"I knew you probably wouldn't get mad at me. But I don't get how you can say stuff like that."

"Not every guy would feel bad about experimenting with a friend, or worry about hurting their friend. Just look at what Puck thinks of his friendships. Look at Finn and Quinn and Santana. Dom or sub, people can be very selfish. I'm definitely one of those people, Kurt. But you're not. You haven't tried to hurt anyone. You haven't mislead anyone on purpose. You don't operate on ulterior motives. You don't need to worry about being in control so much, or worry about what you like. And you don't need any forgiveness from me, but if you want it, know that you have it. I hope you can forgive yourself, too. And," said Blaine, pulling out the big guns, "I know God forgives you, since he has that Grinch heart x-ray and knows what's up in there."

He felt Kurt deflate under his hand, but the sigh seemed to be one of relief. Contrary to what he'd said, it seemed to Blaine like it all was a big deal. Maybe Kurt was trying to minimize it for Blaine's benefit, or for his own, but it reminded him of Kurt acting like it was no big deal to not have a bed.

"Thanks," he wheezed. "If it's okay, can you promise you won't tell anyone? My parents don't know. Most of it, anyway. They know about – the shower."

"I promise, honey."

"Thanks."

"Don't ever think you're alone," Blaine added, stroking the damp ducktail at the back of Kurt's neck. "I've done stupid things, too. Remember how I made out with Brittany? I was trying to prove I could be as straight as the next guy, even though I knew I was gay. I really wanted my dad to see me as a man. A guy's guy. She wanted to make out with me and I allowed her to do it for show. I kept having to keep her hand from sliding into unwelcome places. As much as I doubt Brittany cares that I was just using her, that's how it was for me. I sort of regret not having my first kiss with someone I had real feelings for, but at the Kurte time, I'm glad I found out for sure that I don't have any interest in kissing girls. And I had a similar thing happen to me with a guy in a locker room once, too. Only I felt really afraid of him. Afraid of what he'd do to me, physically. I pushed him away, too. I've only ever told one person what happened, so. Believe me when I tell you your secret is safe with me."

Kurt turned on the spot, staring at him with an eerie seriousness.

"Do I know the guy?"

Blaine felt himself blink rapidly. He was sorely tempted to tell Kurt exactly what had happened and who he'd almost transferred to avoid, but he didn't want to out Karofsky, even to Kurt. He said, almost chipper, "He goes to McKinley. I can't tell you who it is."

"I wouldn't tell," Kurt said.

"I know. I would tell you, but if it were me in the closet, I wouldn't want anyone to out me, even just to one other person. And if he asked me about your private business, I wouldn't say a word, either."

His sub blinked, looking doubtful, but said, "Okay. You don't have to tell me who it is. But, y'know... would you tell me what happened? If that's okay?"

"Oh, he grabbed me and kissed me," said Blaine, fully aware he was doing exactly what Kurt was doing – minimizing it. So he added, "It... really affected me. And I hate that it did. I hate that I was terrified of him. I almost transferred to Dalton. I guess that's one of the reasons I'm guarded. But he doesn't have any power over me anymore. I don't allow it."

After a pause, Kurt said, his arms clenched tight around his knees, "I don't see how anyone could think you're a sub. You're obviously not."

That got a pleased chuckle out of Blaine. "You know, right before he grabbed me, I gave him a thorough what-for. Maybe he sorely needed a bit of a verbal spanking, and when I gave it to him, he was overcome with the need to throw himself at me."

"...I get that," admitted Kurt, putting his face right down onto his arm.

"I'm bleeding," Stacey announced, limping up to them.

Kurt was upright again and off the stairs immediately. "What happened? Let me see!"

"My knee!"

She stuck her leg out and let Kurt crouch in front of her to investigate the fresh pinkened skin. It was hard to tell if she was crying, since it was raining, but she made some pitiful noises. Stevie dismounted his bike and pushed it up to the porch, interested in what was going on. Blaine, too, stood anxiously, envisioning driving Stacey to the hospital for stitches or something – but it seemed like Kurt had the situation under control, and he couldn't see any blood on Stacey's leg.

"Aw, that's not too bad!" was the calm verdict. Kurt stood and hauled her up into his arms. "Let's clean you up and we'll put some Neosporin on it, 'kay? Then maybe Blaine'll let you have a treat. Ready to head in, Stevie? It's gonna be dark soon."

"Eh," Stevie said, non-committal.

"It's bath night," Kurt said cheerily.

"I take showers now," Stevie corrected him.

"'Kay, well, prop your bike. It's shower time."

"'Kay," Stevie echoed, relenting.

"Wanna come in, Blaine?" Kurt asked him.

"Of course."

Admiring Kurt's effortless shepherding skills, Blaine gathered his socks, boots, and Kurt's tee from the back of his chair so he could follow them inside. He'd always suspected his sub could be a capable Dom if he wanted to; he was perfectly at ease with being in charge of his siblings, and from what he'd said, Blaine had little doubt that his roommate/sub had been all too eager to do everything Kurt had mentioned.

I just let him, Kurt had said, stressing his passivity. I let him treat me like a Dom. I liked it most of the time, even...

I thought I was a Dom...

His sub, the switch.

*

Kurt didn't seem to realize that Blaine spent the next thirty minutes watching him closely and quietly. He got Stevie into a quick shower. He placated Stacey as he toweled her down briskly, cleaned up her knee, then let her have a Rice Krispie treat while he brushed her wet hair out. She moaned and whined a bit when the brush snagged, but since she remained quite interested in her Rice Krispie square, such responses seemed to be mostly for show.

Seeing Kurt so competent and in control and sure of what he was doing, yet obviously taking pains to be gentle, was fascinating. Blaine had no idea how to interact with kids. Kurt and Quinn both made it seem effortless, just second nature, but Blaine was thankful that he didn't need to do anything in the way of actual child care.

He watched Kurt put the TV on for his sister, its volume low, then only slightly averted his gaze as Kurt changed into a fresh, dry t-shirt. His sub sorted out everyone's laundry. There was an inbox/outbox-esque basket system going. When Stevie was out of the shower, he too got a Rice Krispie treat, and Kurt hung his little brother's damp jeans up where they could air dry, then Stevie was set up at the table with a math worksheet that needed finishing. Kurt ran a bath for Stacey, then left her to it and breathed a small sigh.

"Want a Rice Krispie treat?" Blaine asked him. He was perched on the edge of the bed, one knee crossed over the other.

"Yeah!" said Kurt, but immediately took it back. "But I probably shouldn't. Thanks, though."

"Sit with me while we wait for Stacey," proposed Blaine.

He smiled as Kurt chose to kneel beside him, sitting back on his calves and looking up at him thoughtfully.

"Um. You make loving fun," Kurt said.

"...Thank you?"

That made Kurt laugh under his breath. "The Fleetwood song."

"Oh! Right, sure," Blaine said quickly. "I'm not really intimately familiar with that one."

"Well, I think you have the perfect voice for it," said Kurt, making Blaine lean back on his hands, quite flattered. "You should sing it for the assignment this week."

"Me? What about you?"

"I'll back you up on guitar."

"And you'll sing, too, right?"

"Yeah. If you want. I'll sing with you," Kurt said, and curled over, resting his cheek on Blaine's thigh. The splashing Blaine had gotten in the parking lot was lingering in the fabric of his trousers, but Kurt didn't hesitate to rub his cheek against them as if they were that soft hoodie he was enchanted by. "If I still had my guitar, I'd play it for you right now and we could sing it."

"Can you play the guitar on your knees?" Blaine teased gently.

"Yup."

"Remind me how the song goes."

Kurt touched his cuffed pant leg tentatively, taking a moment to think.

"Swee-ee-eet, wonderful you," he sang under his breath. "You make me happy with the things you do. Oh-oh, can it be so-o? This feeling follows me wherever I go. I never could belie..."

Taking the prompt, Blaine sang, "Belie-e-e-eve in miracles," feeling his sub's cheek nudging against his leg as he smiled. "But... Hm-hm, something, something, something. Sorry, cutie. I don't remember the exact words."

"'I have a feeling it's time to try,'" Stevie spoke up distractedly, without looking up from his math.

"Ah, a Fleetwood fan," said Blaine, surprised.

"I was named after Stevie Nicks," responded Stevie.

"Well, that is totally awesome," said Blaine with a grin. "We should probably let you finish before we start giving a concert. Actually, all things considered, maybe you two should be giving me the concert. The Hummel Family Singers."

Kurt looked up at him, cheekbone pressed against Blaine's leg, the expression adoring.

For a second, Blaine thought again about Kurt's roommate; he couldn't picture anything real or exact, just a shadow box of a dorm room, and some unfamiliar, unworthy hand daring to touch Kurt through his uniform pants, allowed to feel him hard. Maybe the guy had looked up at him with a similar expression of trust. He wondered how much uncertainty about himself and his responses Kurt had already been carrying by the time Quinn had taken him on and effectively convinced him that everything he wanted was to be repressed.

He combed fingers through Kurt's wet hair, then leaned down and gave his forehead a kiss.

*

Sometime later, it was still raining outside, dark except for the neon glow of the sign reflecting on the wet parking lot.

Stevie was reading a copy of Captain Underpants, hiding back in the corner next to the cot. There were coloring books and a couple of boxes of crayons stacked on the table by the window. Blaine had colored with him for quite some time, livening up Superman's dated look with some alternative polka-dots and stripes. He'd been relieved to discover that Stevie was comfortable just chilling and giving him monosyllabic answers as he diligently filled in color. On the other hand, Stacey had been delighted and full of giggles when Kurt had pretended she was a barbell and bench-pressed her. Their Fleetwood Mac duet wasn't so much rehearsed as mutually stuck in their heads and riffed between them here and there, a cappella. It was still better than Finn and Quinn's.

Night had brought a chill, so Kurt had turned the heater on low, a comforting hum that went along with the drizzling rain and helped muffle the distant clunking of the ice machine. The Cosby Show was on Nick at Nite, playing at such a soft volume Blaine could barely hear it. It had lulled Stacey to sleep. Her pink plush rabbit was tucked under her arm.

As Kurt had deemed his trousers pretty wet and cold, Blaine had agreed to change into a pair of Kurt's sweatpants so his could be hung up to dry next to Stevie's in front of the heater. And, as sweatpants and a button-down were not a good look, he'd also accepted a shirt of Kurt's – that gray and red raglan henley he wore so often, which hung baggy on his frame and was thinner and more worn than it looked, but smelled just like Kurt. Also, as Stacey was sprawled across the bed, Blaine was now sitting on the floor, feeling chilly and nearly naked in the scrappy, loose layers of his sub's clothes, but glorying in the fact that Kurt had spread his sleeping bag out for him rather than let him sit on the old brown carpet.

"How comfy," he said, stroking the bag's durable exterior. He felt weirdly affectionate towards it.

Next to him, Kurt eased himself onto his hip, watching his hand rove over the rust-colored material for a long minute then looking up at him attentively.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Nope. I'm good."

"Can I do anything for you?"

"Nothing appropriate," said Blaine, with a flirty tilt of his head.

He watched Kurt's lips pull in a smile and his eyes light up.

"Is there anything you want?"

"Anything I want?" Blaine echoed, enjoying the back-and-forth and Kurt's clear desire to please despite himself. "Gosh. What more could I want?"

Kurt briefly chewed on the corner of his lips, pushing his mouth into one of its funny rueful shapes, then asked wondrously, "Do you want to train me?"

Inhaling reflexively at the mere word, Blaine lifted his chin. "Train you. How."

Still pulling shapes with his mouth, Kurt blinked at his careful tone and clipped words. Then he leaned in on one hand, murmuring to Blaine softly under the drone of the sitcom laugh track.

"You could train me to kiss you?"

Blaine's brows lifted helplessly high. "... Oh?"

"I won't be like Brittany," Kurt said, eyes wide. "Or that guy – whoever. I'll follow your lead and you can teach me how to do it right."

"I'm –" started Blaine, a number of things running through his head. Shocked! Delighted! Concerned! Not exactly an expert! He lapsed into a momentary silence as he tried to think of how to address the abrupt suggestion, and Kurt stared.

"Unless, like, you don't like kissing," he offered in a whisper.

"I like it," Blaine finally responded.

His sub's chin dipped in what looked to be a nod, but he still said, "But not with me, right? Is it my mouth?"

"You know I love your mouth, silly. Haven't I told you?"

"Well, just... you do kiss me sometimes, but not on the lips, so... I don't know."

"Uh. I didn't know you noticed that kind of thing."

"I thought maybe it's 'cause I need training."

"I'd be happy to kiss you," Blaine admitted. "But your brother's, like, right there. Holding hands is one thing, and I know I've tucked you into this little sleeping bag right in front of your whole family, but is it kosher to kiss you in front of him?"

"Stevie," piped Kurt, just loud enough to get his attention. "Blaine wants to kiss me."

Blaine managed to blush.

"Uh, okay?" came Stevie's confused voice.

"You mind?"

"Whatever," said Stevie.

"See? Nothing he hasn't seen before," Kurt told Blaine.

"You and Quinn?" he asked, receiving a nod. He lowered his voice to a whisper and asked casually, "You didn't let your roommate kiss you?"

Kurt shook his head.

"No? You didn't kiss any cute older boarding school boys?"

"No," whispered Kurt, looking unsure as to whether that was the right answer or not.

Blaine both relaxed and shifted to the offensive. "Okay, then, sport. Let's see what those girls taught you."

After all that, Kurt had the audacity to look slightly nervous, but it made Blaine feel like he had the upper hand in the situation, which was more than welcome. Kurt had dated Quinn for months – made out with her to an extent Blaine had never even slightly wanted to approach with Brittany. Santana had sucked face with him continuously at Rachel's party, with and without liquid encouragement. Kurt had much more experience than he did; Blaine was willing to bet he needed training way more than Kurt.

He adopted a cool pretense of patience as Kurt leaned in. Their noses collided gently, a little awkward, and Kurt gave him a warm but painfully soft press of lips on lips for a heartbeat.

It was barely more than a peck, and Kurt was peering at him afterwards, face still close. He didn't make another move.

"I know that isn't all," Blaine whispered. His heart was beating ferociously hard. If Karofsky hadn't grabbed him already, that would have been the first time a guy had willingly, purposefully kissed him. It managed to feel like the first real kiss Blaine had ever gotten, anyway, and he was throbbing in the wake of it. He already missed Kurt's lips on his. "Show me what you did with them."

He saw Kurt's eyelids take a dizzy drop before he leaned back in with a firmer mouth, inhaling as Blaine tilted his head to meet him just as firmly. Kurt's hand lifted to his shoulder, clutching it, and after that, Blaine slipped into a dream. In the dream, Kurt kissed him without pause, till their clumsy mouths settled into recognition.

He dreamt of dropping his mouth in invitation, and of Kurt taking him up on it immediately, and of meeting his tongue somewhere between them. There was nothing but the smoothness of muscle and warmth of spit, no mouthfuls of sharp-tasting come that threatened to spill out. Nothing between them, and nothing to stop them. There was just the nearly-inaudible whimper on the edge of Kurt's breath as Blaine lifted a hand to cradle his face, familiar and reassuring.

He dreamt of a weight pulling him down, or pushing him, or leading him carefully. Or maybe he was the weight that pulled Kurt. Somehow he was leaning, and Kurt followed till Blaine was on his back on the slight cushion of the sleeping bag, easing up next to him, all of it this swoon. He felt like a wave washing over a shore, everything about reaching that beach natural and inevitable but still like a crash that broke him gently and reduced him to rippling foam. Kurt was warm, solid muscle – the steady rock around which Blaine was lapping, wearing down. But he was careful, too, letting Blaine lead him. He was holding himself back and Blaine was coaxing him forward, fingers slipping around the back of his head and carding through hair that was still damp.

He dreamt of Kurt's ankle sliding against his, and dragging his loose sweats with it, till his ankle was bare, too, and their ankles were bumping and rubbing almost as intimately as their tongues were. Getting warmer on him, heavier, Kurt was nearly covering him. But the warmest thing was his hand sliding up Blaine's side, rustling his loose shirt and finding unclad, undefended skin. For a moment, even in the haze of the dream, it put him on edge. But the edge dissolved into goose bumps; another breaking of the wave as he succumbed to the riptide. He didn't know if he was cold or hot. Both. He was both. He felt naked... like he might as well not even be wearing a shirt...

Then came the rudest awakening.

Something crash-landed on Kurt.

Blaine jumped in his skin, electrically over-sensitive. Arousal had stolen over him and he hadn't even realized how hard he'd gotten under Kurt's hips till that instant. He was, though, incredibly aware of Kurt's hand up his shirt.

Kurt panted and groaned, "Stacey..."

"Kurtwich," Stacey declared.

"Oh my God," Blaine murmured. How quickly and totally he had forgotten about where they were and who was in the room with them! He could feel his skin stinging with a blush so fierce it felt like his body was trying to punish him with a billion needles to the face.

"Stacey," Kurt repeated, pained. "You're supposed to be asleep."

"'Kay. Good night!!"

She let out a noisy pretend snore, making Kurt press his lips into a flat line and look at Blaine with apologetic eyes.

"We should stop," Blaine said, smiling tightly.

"Yeah," Kurt admitted. "I think there's some kinda sleeping monkey on my back."

"Stacey, why don't you just be cool?" Stevie complained.

Stacey's chorus of snores stopped abruptly. "I am cool!"

"They're trying to kiss and you're bothering them," Stevie scoffed.

Stacey sat up, her legs falling on either side of Kurt's waist – and therefore, Blaine's.

"Sorry," she said, unaffected.

"It's fine!" Blaine immediately assured her from his prone position underneath her big brother.

"Are you boyfriend-girlfriend?"

"Uh, I told you, Blaine's my Dom!" Kurt said quickly. "He's a guy and a Dom and he's – my Dom. Just, uh, get off us, okay!"

She pretty much fell off Kurt, flopping onto the floor in her pink nightgown beside Blaine. Her face was mildly curious and clueless. "Why were you touching tongues?"

"Why do you think?" asked Stevie, sounding exasperated.

"I dunno," said Stacey.

"I do believe this is my cue to exit stage right," lamented Blaine.

"Look, I'll tell you why later. Go brush your teeth, squirt," Kurt told her, and she moaned reluctantly, but hopped up. The bathroom door slammed loudly behind her, and Kurt gave another sigh.

Between his deeply, massively inappropriate hard-on born entirely out of the world's most clumsy (and also inappropriate) makeout session, Stacey's befuddlement over what they were even doing, and feeling incredibly naked without his many layers of clothes, Blaine was red-hot.

"Um. I really do need to go," he murmured, patting Kurt's shoulder.

"Oh – okay," Kurt said, sliding off him again quickly. It left his front quite visible, with the side of his shirt pushed up and his erection bulging in Kurt's thin sweats. Flustered, Blaine quickly adjusted himself, and Kurt totally watched him do it, staring blatantly at his crotch even after Blaine had tucked up as best he could. "You can just wear that stuff home, if you want. I know your pants are still wet."

"Okay," Blaine agreed. Stacey was in the bathroom, anyway, and he wasn't going to change in front of Stevie. He sat up. "Will you bring me my boots?"

Kurt shuffled on his knees over to the door, returning with Blaine's knee-high Docs in his hands. At just about any other time, Blaine would have loved to see Kurt on his knees, doing his bidding. Right then, it made him feel like kind of a creep, because he couldn't even see it without finding it massively sexy, and wow, was this neither the time nor the place. He hadn't felt a tad guilty for enjoying watching Kurt use the kneelers in his church, but it wasn't like the figure of Jesus on the cross had turned his head, thorny crown and all, and asked why he was wondering if he could findeth one of those on eBay. Briskly, Blaine plucked the socks out of his boots and jammed his feet in, not bothering to tie their laces.

"Um," Kurt said, easing back on his calves and watching with his hands resting on his own knees. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine!" said Blaine. "It's just getting late! Your parents will be home soon, and I should really get going."

Kurt's mouth tweaked in acceptance. "'Kay. Um. I'll... I can fold your pants, if you want."

"Thanks, honey."

After Blaine stood, Kurt's sweats tucked into his slouching boots, he grabbed for his button-down and tied it around his waist. He feared it did little good.

"Bye, Blaine," said Stevie, who was looking out from behind the bed, his book in his small hands.

"Bye, sweetie," said Blaine, pretending he wasn't hiding a boner as Kurt handed him the crookedly folded square of his trousers, rather formally, his phone balanced on top. They'd dried out a little. He caught himself belatedly, feeling doubly awkward. "I mean, Stevie. Sorry. I sound like my aunt Mildred!"

"'S okay," Stevie said. "And don't worry. I won't tell Mom and Dad you guys were making out."

"Oh, gosh," said Blaine, and fumbled into his pants pocket for his car keys. He felt like his face might just explode. "You're a prince. Just like your brother."

He let Kurt open the door for him and follow him onto the porch, where his umbrella waited. Gone was the gray parking lot from earlier that evening, swallowed by a shining, reflective black sea sprinkled with shards of neon reflections. He shivered, but welcomed the cold air like it was a cold shower and lifted his umbrella. He was sure Mary Poppins would have a sharp and likely very lengthy word for him right about then.

"Can I walk you to your car?" asked Kurt.

"Do you want to get wet again?"

"Yes," Kurt said, even though it had been more of a rhetorical question.

"Squeeze under here with me, then," suggested Blaine, offering his arm.

They headed down the stairs into the parking lot, Blaine once more unsure how Kurt could make it through the day with his shoes untied. His boots were tall and he still felt like he was going to lose them in a puddle, or something. His barefoot sub escorted him through the rain to his parking space, and reached out to open his car door for him in a gentlemanly manner.

"Well – thanks for, um, having me over," said Blaine, quickly moving into the open embrace between door and car to block the rain from soaking his interior.

"Hey, sorry about Stacey," said Kurt, coming along. "She doesn't get it yet – she doesn't know any better."

"Oh, no, I'm the one who's sorry," Blaine told him, reaching out to clutch Kurt's bicep. "I shouldn't have been kissing you in front of your siblings. I really did not mean to grab you and pull you down like that. I shouldn't have let it happen. I apologize."

Even though the rain was drumming noisily on his umbrella and the hood of his car and the pavement all around them, Blaine still heard Kurt groan softly.

"It's me. I – laid you down. I got too excited."

"You got too excited? I know you saw the situation going on in these sweatpants."

"Yeah, but – I liked it," Kurt said heavily, which made Blaine take a deep, damp breath full of the smells of rain hitting soil and pavement, wet grass, and his sub – who he could smell so distinctly, wearing his clothes. No amount of spins at the laundromat could take the smell of Kurt's skin, soap, and deodorant out of the shirt. Patiently, Blaine moved and shut his car door again, trying to keep Kurt in the sanctuary of his umbrella. Understanding that he was being granted an extra minute of time, Kurt quickly said, "I shouldn't have tried that. It was too much. I didn't think about putting you in a weird position. I'm just so used to Stevie and Stacey being around and us all ignoring each other, it didn't bug me. I didn't think. But I should've. I'm sorry. I really am a freak sometimes."

"No, you're not," said Blaine, wrapping an arm around Kurt's shoulder and caressing the back of his neck. "I promise. It must drive you crazy, not having any privacy. Especially when your body is so eager and you're having subby thoughts. It barely takes a nudge to get you going, and you can't do a thing about it, can you? Not till I let you."

Kurt bowed his head, nodding.

"But me – I have no excuse," Blaine told him. "If Stacey hadn't woken up, I might've let you kiss me forever."

"Really?"

"Mm, and who knows what would've happened then. I could've been the one messing up your little sleeping bag. Don't think I didn't notice your hand going up my shirt. It would've wandered all over the place if I'd let it. Actually, scratch that. I know right where it would've wound up."

"Sorry," Kurt whispered tensely.

Chuckling, Blaine said, "It's totally okay. I like my sub touching me. Obviously, we both liked it. Right? You... liked the kissing? And stuff?"

"Yeah. Please, I hope you consider training me."

"Kurt..."

He stopped, taking careful pause. He didn't really think Kurt needed any kind of coaching or guidance. He had been so – careful. Not shy, but conscientious, especially at first. If Blaine hadn't taken his typical natural initiative, it all would have been exceedingly gentle.

But he didn't know if saying that he didn't need training would sound good or bad to his sub. He knew Kurt was more sensitive about his mouth than he acted; he'd clearly internalized a lot of commentary about it, telling Blaine he had blow job lips and putting Santana's nickname for him on his "Born This Way" t-shirt.

And honestly, he wasn't totally sure whether Kurt actually wanted to kiss him the Kurte way he wanted to kiss Kurt. As much as Blaine had enjoyed it and wanted to kiss him, it seemed somewhat likely that his sub just wanted to earn a privilege, or really didn't have confidence in his skills. He really had been careful.

Whatever the case, it was obvious that Kurt was asking him for instruction as a submissive would ask his master. That was all right, Blaine thought. And that made him respond as a master.

"Okay. I'll train you. But you have to do your part."

"I will," said Kurt. "... What's my part?"

"You have to ask for kisses," decided Blaine. It felt right. It especially felt right because Karofsky had just nailed him out of nowhere with a kiss that was more of a punishment than anything else; he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of a totally unwanted kiss, and didn't want to put Kurt on that end. Taking care that Kurt was asking for something he wanted was the opposite of what had happened with Karofsky and to Kurt at his boarding school, and it gave his sub another avenue of expression and opportunity to learn that this wasn't a one-way street. He added, "And I'd like you to be specific about what you're asking for. I know you like to ask your Dom for permission."

He felt Kurt inhale, their chests close together.

"When can I ask?"

"Whenever you feel like you want it."

"... Whenever?"

"Yes, whenever. If you don't want to kiss me, you never have to." He smiled and shrugged. "Honestly, I don't expect you to want to. So you should only ask if you do really, truly want it. And this isn't some kind of game I'm playing with you. There's no way any kind of punishment or penalty awaits you. There's no right or wrong to it. I just think it's exceptionally good when you ask for the things you want. I like to hear what my sub thinks and likes and wants. And I like you entrusting ultimate control to me."

A look of concentration on his face, Kurt considered all that for a moment, then shook his head.

"Like... I could just ask for a kiss? Right now?"

"You could if you wanted," said Blaine, batting his lashes.

Surrendering completely and without hesitation, Kurt asked, "Can I please kiss you?"

"Yes. But how do you want to kiss me?"

"Um. On the lips."

Even though he felt slightly ridiculous, Blaine said, "Kiss me, then."

Bending, Kurt gave his mouth a tender smooch, his nose nudging Blaine's comfortably.

Tame as it was, it left Blaine breathless, curling his fingers into Kurt's hair and whispering, "Perfect. That's not difficult, right?"

"Not at all. Can I keep kissing you? Like that?" whispered Kurt. At Blaine's urging, he leaned into another kiss. His mouth was hot even in the clingy chill.

"Blaine!" cried a voice.

Too soon and too quickly, Kurt and Blaine parted; Stacey was running across the porch, leaving the motel room's door open behind her. She hopped down the wet staircase – Blaine could just see her falling and scraping up her other knee – and ran towards them frantically, getting her pink nightie wet.

Blaine glanced at Kurt, who sighed, his chest sinking deeply, yet suppressed his probable annoyance with a smile and shook his head, muttering, "'Course."

"Stacey! What's up, honey?" Blaine asked her, letting Kurt go.

"You left!" she wailed.

"Aw, I'm sorry, princess!" said Blaine. "I didn't say goodbye to you, did I? How rude of me."

He handed the umbrella to Kurt and bent to give her a truly awkward hug, silently cursing his lack of layers. Even though he wasn't as hard as he'd been, he still hoped Kurt was right about Stacey not getting anything yet and that she wasn't thinking about anything but postponing her bedtime.

"Bye, Blaine," she mumbled into his shoulder, bare arms clambering around his back.

"Bye, honey."

That seemed to be all Stacey wanted, backing away and staring up at Blaine with eyes as round and puppyish as Kurt's. Looking at his sub, he saw that Kurte expression. It was one of innocence and hunger and obedience. In Stacey's case, it was probably just because he was older and taller and she literally had to look up to him.

"Be careful out in this parking lot," he told her, tilting his head and smiling. "You don't want to slip and fall or step on any sharp things. Sleep tight tonight and be good for Kurt, okay?"

"Okay."

"You two better take the umbrella," Blaine advised, opening his door.

"I'll bring it back to you tomorrow," Kurt said, sweeping Stacey easily up into one arm, where she dangled in her pink nightie, Band-aid visible on her knee, feet dripping.

"We'll trade," said Blaine, plucking at the raglan he was sporting. "See you at school, angel. Oh, and – you know that thing you've been wearing this week?"

"Yeah," said Kurt, snapping to attention.

"Wear it again tomorrow. I'll check, so don't forget."

"I won't," Kurt declared. Maybe Blaine was just biased, but he thought he could see something about Kurt's posture pulling straighter, perking, like he had a sense of importance. He asked, holding the umbrella over all their heads, "Can I kiss you good night?"

"On the cheek," said Blaine, mindful of Stacey.

*

By the time Blaine made it home, he was damp and cold and in clothes that didn't belong to him, with his boots untied and his hair having officially succumbed to the rain.

He was also the dictionary definition of twitterpated. As he'd gained some distance from the motel, his kneejerk embarrassment had waned and a heady joy had reared up in its place. Training or no, he'd just actually made out with a cute boy. A cute boy who had been copping a feel of his waist before they'd been interrupted, tentatively gaining a few more inches of Blaine's bare skin. A seriously cute boy who apparently had thoughts about how he needed Blaine to train him.

He was tromping up the stairs, the soles of his boots squeaking wetly, when his dad walked past them and said, "Interesting look. Half-drowned cat is in this year, huh?"

"Oh, I forgot my umbrella," replied Blaine dreamily.

"Yeah, you did!" said his dad, and continued into the living room, chuckling heartily.

At the top of the stairs, Blaine glanced down the hall. Finn's door was open and his room was dark.

Something made him stop.

He must have stood there in the hallway for a whole minute without exactly thinking anything, just looking at the darkness beyond the tidy white jamb.

It was more of a flaring of instinct and some echoes of resentment that made Blaine turn and walk the landing to Finn's room than any one conscious thought.

He flipped the light on and peered in. Finn obviously wasn't home, but his backpack slouched in the chair next to his unmade bed. All things considered, his room wasn't too messy. Blaine had, of course, picked out a lot of storage for him when they'd moved into their new rooms, but sometimes Finn just plain didn't use it. He seemed accustomed to leaving stuff in piles under his bed, as if he still lived in a room the size of a closet. He hadn't even thrown away some of the boxes and packaging his Christmas gifts had come in several months ago.

Although he paused in the doorway, Blaine's eye quickly fell on his stepbrother's dented pillow and mussed sheets. Then it hopped to his bedside table.

When Finn and Rachel had been dating, he'd kept a framed picture of her right there, but now he was dating Quinn.

Sure enough, there was a different frame in its place. Rachel's frame had been littered in gold star stickers she'd applied herself, but Quinn's was a simple silver oval. The picture of her in it was, in a word, smug. It was like she knew she was the prettiest girl the photographer had seen all day and she was giving him a secretive look. However, another small picture leaned against the frame, a little bent, its edges rough. It was Quinn's old school portrait – the one that had gotten blown up into Lucy Caboosey posters. Even standing right next to a current picture of Quinn, Blaine could barely see any resemblance. Lucy's expression was doleful and distant, her smile forced.

Blaine had no idea whether Finn looked at these pictures and admired the mega-upgrade or if he saw what they made obvious: She was a two-faced girl.

He picked up Finn's pillow, stared for a moment at Rachel's school picture hidden under it, then dropped it again.

Obviously, Finn did have doubts about his Domme. But he had more than just doubts. He had feelings, too.

He needed to have patience with his stepbrother, Blaine realized, exiting the room and taking care to turn the light off again. He knew Quinn had a way of getting into a guy's head, just like he knew Rachel had a way of getting under people's skin.

*

"My goodness," said Blaine the next morning, "you are the most delectable thing I have ever seen."

"Is that good? Do I look cool?" Kurt wanted to know. He grinned and straightened the hemp jacket Blaine had left behind at the motel over his chest. He hadn't buttoned it – but Blaine wouldn't have been surprised if his chest was so broad that he couldn't button it.

"Screw cool," Blaine responded happily, pushing the umbrella Kurt had already placed in his locker further back to make room for his books. "I wanna eat you alive."

"That's good too, right?"

"Very," Blaine purred. "You're adorable. So? How'd the drive turn out for your dad? Do you think he has a shot at a job?"

"If he does, he didn't say. At this point, I think he just doesn't wanna jinx it or get our hopes up, 'cause nothing's worked out yet, even though we've been trying for months," replied Kurt, the corner of his mouth twisting up. "My mom had her poker face on, too. I guess we'll see."

"Well, I hope the trip wasn't in vain. But I liked hanging out with you and Stevie and Stacey. Baby-sitting's a pretty hot date," joked Blaine.

"That reminds me," said Kurt, and dug into the jacket's pocket. "Here. Stacey wrote you a letter."

"Stacey did?"

"Uh-huh," said Kurt, handing Blaine a folded up square of extra wide-ruled notebook paper. "Stayed up past her bedtime to do it. Guess your bribe worked."

"God, how cute. I don't know if my heart can take much more cute." He unfolded it and read, looking over some creative seven-year-old spelling, "'Dear Blaine, Sorry I interrupted you kissing with Kurt. You are his Dom. Thank you for the Rice Krispie treats. Love, Stacey Hummel.' Oh my God! She drew you and me holding hands, Kurt! She drew your collars on your wrists! I'm about to faint."

"I had to explain a lot of stuff to her after you left," Kurt lamented.

"Oh, that's right," said Blaine, reaching for a spare magnet and tacking Stacey's note, with its happy, messy crayon figures, up on his locker door so he could admire it for the rest of the school year. "Um, what did you say?"

"That you're my Dom," Kurt recited, taking Blaine's messenger bag from him, "and it means you help me and give me directions, and I'm your sub, and it means I look up to you and would do anything for you, and I belong to you, and that's what my collars mean. And 'cause I belong to you, it means sometimes holding hands and kissing and all that mushy stuff. It doesn't have to be like boyfriend-girlfriend. And it doesn't matter if we're both guys, 'cause... we can all be with whoever we want to be with."

"Hm," Blaine responded approvingly. "Maybe I should have you explain it to my stepbrother."

"Oh, and you can't kiss with tongue till you're in high school," added Kurt. "If she asks you, it's a rule."

"Gotcha. Stacey doesn't seem like she'd mind a little rule-bending, though," Blaine commented.

"Uh, hopefully I'll be, like, married by the time she starts thinking about bending the kinds of rules we break all the time," Kurt said.

Biting down on a smile, Blaine handed Kurt the red and gray raglan, which he'd neatly folded and tucked into his bag, then his sweatpants.

"Thanks!"

"Mm-hm! Thanks for letting me borrow them. I washed the sweatpants for you, but to be honest, I slept in the shirt, so."

"You did?"

Lifting the shirt to his face, Kurt gave it a curious sniff. Blaine reached over and playfully tugged at the lapel of his trench.

He took Kurt to his locker so they could get his books and stow his clothes there, and to his delight, Kurt opted to keep Blaine's jacket on. Sort of like the Breakfast At Tiffany's sleep mask, the fact that it didn't quite suit him was what made it so completely adorable to Blaine. His army print cuffs peeked out from the sleeves of it, but Kurt wearing a jacket with a floral design artfully stamped on it instead of his usual letter jacket was quite the statement of who owned him in itself. He could hear Finn's voice in his head. Why don't you just paint a target on his back? Do you know what a joke you guys are?

"Boys' room," Blaine said briskly.

It was empty, but surely only for a matter of seconds. However, Kurt readily submitted to simply being turned across a sink, Blaine pushing his unhemmed jacket up into the small of his back and catching at his jeans with one finger to take himself a peek.

"Mmm, very good," Blaine told him, catching Kurt's breathless and somewhat amazed expression in the mirror. He gave his sub's bottom a light, playful football slap and watched his eyelids fall shut for a brief but rewarding moment. Then one of the guys from the hockey team walked in, mullet and everything. The puckhead gave them a weird look, so Blaine took Kurt by the elbow, pulled him up straight, and lead him out again.

When they parted by the French room, Kurt pulled himself out of a slight stupor and asked if he could kiss Blaine's cheek.

"Mais oui, mon petit."

"That means yes?" asked Kurt.

"Absolument," Blaine replied with a coy smile.

"I have to learn French," said his sub.

*

After a tense glee, Blaine met up with Sam at the bustling Lima Bean, and the two had barely taken their seats at a table by the window when Sam said, "I hope things aren't as awkward this time as they were last time."

"They don't have to be," Blaine offered.

"Good," said Sam brightly. "I just want you to know that I'm totally over it."

"Over what, exactly?"

"You're actually making me say it," he said, and chuckled as if he'd expected this somehow.

"Oh, I'm not making you do anything!" Blaine countered.

Smiling at his coffee cup, Sam said in a clear voice, "I don't regret telling you what I did, but I'm over it. I'm not confused. I'm not questioning myself. You and I are friends. I have faith we can just put it behind us, and I don't want you to police yourself so much we can't have a decent conversation anymore. You can continue speaking to me as a Dom, and know that I will respond to you only as a Dom. And a friend. A friend who is a Dom."

"Ah," said Blaine, straightening his crooked coffee lid till it snapped in place. "Okay, then. Whatever you say."

"So," Sam hurried on. "Update me. What's New Directions doing this week?"

"One word: Rumours."

"Shut up! I'm so jealous!"

"Kurt and I are toying with doing 'You Make Loving Fun.'"

"Double jealous," said Sam with a slightly self-conscious laugh. "What a great choice. But there's not a bad song on that album, so you can't really go wrong."

"Who knows if we'll ever get to rehearse it, though," said Blaine. "Kurt's schedule is so packed that when I do get a chance to see him, singing is fairly low on the list of things I want to do with him."

"Are you still on the fence about punishing him?"

"Punishing him, yes," he answered, shifting in his seat and examining Sam's casual expression surreptitiously. "Spanking him... no. But I shouldn't say any more!"

"I shouldn't have asked!" Sam agreed. "Just, um – that means you've spanked him since we talked about it, right?"

"I can't say," sang Blaine. "Someone might be spying."

"Spying? Come on."

"Oh, no, it's true! People think you and I have been seeing each other on the downlow. Our school newspaper's been publishing all kinds of trash. I even saw Finn toting around a pair of binoculars. I have to assume there are eyes and ears everywhere, hanging on my every scintillating word."

"Well, in the defense of anyone who may be eavesdropping, our conversations do tend to be juicy. Last time, we had a very tabloid-worthy disagreement about whether it was cool for this time of year or warm for this time of year."

"And I have been texting you frequently about Ricki Lake getting a new talk show."

"I'm as pumped as you are."

"I doubt that."

The two chatted without aim, and even though they were still keeping it super casual, Blaine actually felt like his friendship with Sam could probably go back to normal, given more time. Maybe Blaine really could go to his junior prom with a guy. He knew Sam wasn't the wallflower type, so it was easy to imagine dancing with him and having a good time, as friends. He decided to think about it a little more, even though prom was coming up in just a couple of weeks. It wasn't like he'd found a suitable tux yet... not that he'd been looking. Okay, he'd been looking. But not in earnest. He couldn't help but remember Kurt saying that he looked good in a suit, and also couldn't help wanting to outdo his Easter garb and see if Kurt would say anything like that again.

Jeez, he really had to let go of the fantasy of going to prom with Kurt. Even when he tried to think about going with Sam, his brain turned back to Kurt, just as it always turned back to Kurt when he was chatting with Sam.

As his cup neared empty, Blaine finally said, "You know, before we go, I feel like I need to tell you that I support you, Sam, and I do think of you as a Dom."

"Oh," said Sam, his brow perking. "Well. Thank you!"

"But honestly," he continued, "I think I know what your 'Born This Way' t-shirt would say."

"Do enlighten me," Sam said evenly.

"'Switch Hitter.'"

"Umm. I thought we were putting that behind us."

"It is behind us. It's not an issue. That's what I'm saying. I want you to know that you don't have to police yourself, either. I just think it's best to keep it honest."

Sam responded, dark lashes lowered, "Okay. I agree. I just don't want you to get so cagey when we talk domination. I'm not trying to envision myself in your sub's place – nor am I trying to imagine being his Dom. I just like talking about this stuff with you for the Kurte reason you used to like talking about it with me. I don't know that many gay kids, and I know zero in binding, public agreements, complete with collar. We don't have to talk about sex. I know it can sometimes make you uncomfortable."

"Tell me the truth," Blaine said suddenly. "Are there guys hooking up at Dalton? You have a discretionary, but don't use it. What's up with that?"

"Um... well, you know Dalton. Remember what you asked the first time we met – if we were all gay? Sure, some of us are, but more importantly, we're all like brothers. When guys there pair off, it's usually just because they have a natural fraternal dynamic. It's pretty impolite to assume or inquire if it goes beyond that. Even if it totally does and it's an open secret, Dalton's atmosphere is designed to protect its students. Harassment isn't tolerated, so any kind of behavior that could be construed as harassment can be a black mark on your name. But, yes, now and then, some of our gay students will go public with an official relationship. Either way, you have to be pretty sure of yourself to use the discretionary."

"Hm. I suppose it's a little different than a boarding school environment," said Blaine. "I bet at Dalton it doesn't matter if you're a Dom or sub, really. You don't put pressure on orientation and you can all just go home at the end of the day. You're not breathing down each other's necks."

"We certainly don't discriminate, nor do we get our creep on," confirmed Sam. "Don't tell me you're thinking of transferring."

"The Warblers should be so lucky. And no. No way would I leave Kurt alone with the vultures at McKinley."

"Ah, of course not."

"Anyway, did I tell you how my soft room makeover turned out?"

"No, you didn't! I didn't think you'd been back to it in a while."

"Well," Blaine said, "my sub needed some seeing to last week."

"I imagine he did," Sam said with a familiar little twinkle in his eye.

"What a day he had..." As wrong as it was, Blaine wasn't beyond admitting to himself that some attention-loving part of him liked sharing this kind of thing with Sam, just like he truthfully did feel intrigued by drama and scandals and gossip. He wasn't about to share Kurt's private business, but still, a little Dom shop talk didn't hurt. "He tried so hard to be good."

"Ah, you're teasing me," Sam declared.

"I am, I am," said Blaine happily. "Sorry."

"So, the soft room. Is it now soft? Or did you go for a more hardcore theme?"

"Well, first off, they didn't even look at the plan that proposed manacles..."

*

Come 9:45, and Blaine called Kurt before Kurt could call him.

"Blaine, hey," Kurt greeted him eagerly.

"Hi, sweetie. How's work tonight?"

"Ugh, fine, I guess. Truthfully, I'm kinda beat. Now I know why they say T.G.I.F."

"Aw, really? Are you too beat to do a little something for me?"

"Never too beat for you," replied his sub.

"Oh, I'm glad to hear it."

"Tell me what to do," said Kurt.

Blaine could tell that he'd snagged his sub's attention. He paused for effect, but not for too long, since they only had a fifteen-minute window.

"You're still wearing your jock strap, aren't you, Kurt. You've been wearing them all week for me and passed all your checks with flying colors," said Blaine, flashing back to his hand planted on Kurt's back, right next to the blue flower printed on his jacket, and to Kurt bending over the sink in the boys' room in an obedient flop.

"Yes," Kurt breathed.

"Mm, that's my good boy. Go to the bathroom and take it off. I'll be waiting for you to bring it to me."

"Bring it to you?"

"Mm-hmm!"

"Are you coming here? Or d'you want me to, like... deliver it?"

"What a cute idea. Maybe I'll have you deliver your edible self right to my doorstep one of these days. But, you guessed it," said Blaine, leaning back in his seat and tapping his steering wheel. "I'm already here. So how 'bout it, cutie? Will you bring me your jock?"

"Yeah!" said Kurt. If he thought the idea was weird, it certainly didn't show. "'Course."

"I'm waiting."

"'Kay! Be right out," said Kurt, and hung up, leaving Blaine to trace his teeth with his tongue, grinning as he accessed his phone's timer once more.

Moving with certainty, Blaine slid out of his car, shutting the door behind him and eyeing the storefront window. Kurt had parked in the exact Kurte space as last time, so Blaine had done the Kurte, parking next to him. That sense of having set a good precedent rushed to him immediately, as electric and flickering in the cool but humid May night as the Nice Slice sign. He merely waited, knowing that indoors, Kurt was doing his bidding and getting his pants off, unbeknownst to his employers. He could imagine Kurt's dick hanging free, bobbing as it hardened, and him trying to tuck it in his loose-fit jeans.

Half a minute later, the shop door swung open with a tinkle of its bell, and Kurt jostled his way out, one tipped elbow leading the way. His hands were shoved into his pockets and he'd left his white visor inside. Blaine didn't even need to call him over; his sub found him immediately and hurried over as casually as he could manage. As soon as he rounded the front of the van, Kurt was pulling one fist from his pocket, white straps hanging out the sides of it.

He offered it with wordless excitement, clearly happy to be able to follow directions.

"For me?" Blaine teased, lifting his hand just to stroke one dangling strap.

"For you."

"Just what I wanted," Blaine said, taking the light stitch of underwear from his sub and giving its firm elastic waistband a casual snap right there in the parking lot. The fabric was still totally warm with Kurt's body heat. "Are those keys in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

"Both," Kurt managed, huffing sheepishly. It made Blaine giggle, but he pulled his face straight.

"What a good answer. How about you unlock this door?"

He heard Kurt let out an eager exhale and smirked, watching him as he turned the key in the lock and opened the sliding door.

He offered Blaine a hand, but Blaine said, "You first, sweetie. Take whatever seat you want."

Complying immediately, Kurt climbed in. There was as much stuff taking up space as last time, but everything was in a different place, giving Blaine the impression that the Hummel family lived out of the van to a certain extent, storing stuff as needed. He saw some clothes in laundry baskets waiting to be taken to the laundromat, a pile of extra towels, and a couple of naked, depressed-looking pillows. Kurt moved the towels from behind the passenger seat, stacking them up on the pillows in the very back seat, then settled himself and again offered Blaine a hand, reaching out from within.

Blaine took it with a smile, stepping up into the vehicle and sliding past Kurt, who closed the door after him without being asked.

Once it was good and shut, Blaine pushed the arm rest on Kurt's seat out of the way and draped himself over Kurt's lap, his back to the sliding door. Long, muscular arms clutched him.

"What do you think this little visit is for?"

"Do I get to service you again?" his sub responded. There was a shred of doubt in his voice, but his eyes were hopeful anyway. While the ceiling light was still on, Blaine admired his beautiful face and ready mouth. It was amazing to realize that Kurt would, if he wanted, use those curvaceous, offensively pink lips on his dick. Actually, it was also amazing to realize that Kurt wanted to use them for kissing, too.

Pleased, Blaine gave his sub's nose a nudge with his own, dropping a light kiss on those lips.

"Wouldn't that make you a happy sub."

"Yes," Kurt breathed. "Please?"

Leaving Kurt's jock strap in his own lap, Blaine lifted his phone and set his alarm for ten minutes while Kurt watched him with bated breath, then tapped the start button. It started ticking away, draining time out from under them. He leaned and set it on top of the nearest pile of laundry.

"Before that goes off, you're going to give me your come," he informed Kurt, watching his expression go from eager to elated to slightly dizzy. Something about where his features ended up seemed to register some consternation, too, so Blaine added, "It's been a long week, and you've been such a good boy, waiting all this time to be allowed to get off. I know you need to. And I want to let you. Aren't you ready to blow your load, Kurt?"

"Y – Yeah," Kurt faltered.

"Why don't we see how long it takes?" Blaine suggested, mainly to tease him as he worked open Kurt's belt. "Won't take too long, I bet."

The ceiling light went out overhead, leaving Kurt's face in shadow, but he laid his hand on Blaine's knee, squeezing it timidly. He seemed a tad shell-shocked.

"Touch your head rest," Blaine told him, and when Kurt did, arms up and elbows bent, he whispered, "That's right. Keep your hands there. Move them and I'll be forced to tie them. And I'll use your jock strap to do it."

"'Kay," Kurt managed. With his arms up, it spread him out for Blaine to access in any way he wanted. It wasn't a huge difference in position, but Blaine still felt it, and judging by the way his head eased back against the rest he was clutching, Kurt did, too.

Focusing, hands working between them, Blaine got Kurt's belt open as quickly as he could, and after a hazy second, Kurt seemed to realize that despite his pseudo-bondage, he wasn't blindfolded this time, and dropped his chin to peer down as Blaine popped loose the button on his jeans and eased down his zip. The sunny yellow Nice Slice polo had been hastily tucked into the front of his jeans, but nothing else impeded Blaine from sliding his hand right into them and squeezing his sub's bare cock.

Kurt's breath caught and skipped jaggedly in his throat, managing to make him sound like he was squeezing five or six gasps into one.

"Aw, that sounded like it felt good," Blaine commented, feeling Kurt's dick twitch forcefully in his hand. He pulled it right up and out of the loosened denim, thumb fondly sliding over the crown. Under his weight, Kurt's thighs flexed. His body was taking a hard shift into responding to him, even though Blaine could tell just how actually unexpected the attention was and knew his instinct was to somehow try and keep control of his body. Perhaps some of that training was Quinn's, but Blaine had taken it and made use of it, twisted it to suit Kurt's needs a little more. He had, at least, successfully pried Kurt away from blurting out shame-faced apologies when something felt good to him. In Blaine's opinion, that was major. He asked, "Hm? Kurt? Does it feel good for me to touch you?"

It took a stunned few seconds, but Kurt admitted, "Yeh – yes."

"That's it," he murmured soothingly, stroking his erection slowly. "I like my sub to feel good, don't I? I love getting your dick hard and playing with it whenever I want."

"K –" Kurt started, letting out the beginning of his Dom's name, but he got caught in the pumping Blaine was giving his cock and took a minute to choke it out. "Blaine."

"Mm-hmm. I'm right here, cutie. I'm with you this time. Instead of touching yourself in here, begging over the phone to service me, and having to stop, now you get to shoot your load for your Dom before you go back to work."

Whatever his sub's thoughts on that were, Kurt's cock couldn't have been harder. He let out a soft, "Mmf."

"You're giving it up to me, aren't you. All that self-control. All that willpower." Even as he said it, Blaine could tell Kurt's grip on himself was slipping. He urged, "Hand it over to me now. Let go of it for me, Kurt."

Kurt's groan, vibrating in his chest right against Blaine's side, sounded almost reluctant. His left knee was moving under Blaine's, his legs pushing open, and Blaine could feel his belly sinking and his chest rising and tension flattening him to the back of the seat.

Lowering his voice to a coaxing murmur, Blaine continued, "You don't have to hold anything back. Let go. Let go, sweetie. Do you wanna do that for me?"

"Yes, Blaine," rasped Kurt urgently.

"Oh, good boy," Blaine responded, loving the hiccough that wrenched out of his sub when he heard those words of praise. He sped his leisurely pace, pulling in increasingly concentrated tugs around the ridge at the neck of Kurt's burning hot cock, the flesh in his fingers so rigid for him that it made Kurt's need even more naked and close. Now it really felt like he was just totally jerking Kurt off. "Aren't you my good boy?"

"God, please, please!" scraped from Kurt's tight throat.

"You're gonna come for your Dom, aren't you. C'mon, Kurt."

He felt his sub freezing in it, dangling for a sweet, all too short second, and snatched at the jock strap just in time to catch the load that shot out of him, hot and frantic, pumping right through Blaine's fingers and out of his slit like a geyser.

"That's it!" Blaine exclaimed under his breath, triumphant. "That's a good little sub."

Gutted half-shouts quickly became weak whimpers that resounded in Kurt's body, making his legs quiver. Blaine's hands were full, one sliding along his sub's dick, jacking him through it, the other managing to hold the totally sopping jock strap Kurt was thoroughly creaming, catching each harsh blurt of come. Kurt's dick pulsed around more and more, like he literally couldn't stop now that the dam had broken, and to Blaine's surprise, the compulsive quiver of Kurt's thighs grew into harsh shudders. His voice shook vulnerably as he gasped and quaked. He might have actually fallen off the seat or something if Blaine hadn't been seated right on him.

"Oh my God," Blaine let out in amazement. Kurt had done all kinds of wiggling for him before, but he'd never seen an orgasm seize his whole body like this. His muscles weren't just jerking. They were vibrating, deep involuntary shivers that grew and crested beneath him. "You needed that so bad, didn't you!"

"Hah-h-h-h," Kurt squeaked. The full-body shudders seemed to hit a peak and subside into smaller, uncontrollable tremors.

"Shh, shh. Goodness. You're all right," Blaine whispered attentively, and laughed in utter delight. He couldn't even believe he'd made his sub come like this. He didn't hesitate to jack Kurt's cock a little more, feeling how hard he still was and how his body was still caught in that orgasm. The anguished noise and squirm that got him almost made him stop, but Kurt's flesh pulsed around another firm gush of jizz. Blaine could feel it pumping right out of him. He let out another chuckle, pleased and breathy. "Got more for me? What a good boy. I won't be satisfied till you give it all up."

That skimpy jock strap never stood a chance. Its pouch was too thin to withstand the spatters Blaine milked out till Kurt was empty and his hard shaft finally started to soften in Blaine's grip. His hand was slick with spunk.

"Did I wring you dry?" he asked Kurt.

"Holy sh-i-i-it," rattled out of Kurt in a choppy breath. He flexed for a hot second, but gave it up as his left knee responded to him trying to get ahold of things by bouncing like someone was strumming on a pressure point, even with Blaine's knees both hooked over it.

"Relax. We've still got –" Blaine reached for his phone to check. "Hm! Five minutes. Pretty good. You can put your hands down again."

"N-n-n," Kurt managed. Judging by the fact that he didn't budge, Blaine thought maybe he just couldn't ask anything of his limbs yet. So he just smirked and rested his cheek on Kurt's shoulder, basking in the heat radiating from Kurt's throat and pits and chest.

*

Blaine slid out of the Hummel' van with Kurt's heavily soiled jock leaking its contents all over his previously pristine pocket square.

He maybe should've cared about possibly completely ruining his pocket square. But he simply did not. He wrapped it up snugly around the jock strap, the sharp and bitter scent of Kurt's come still strong even in the cool, fresh air, and tucked it into his back pocket. (As bold a look as stuffing his sub's jizz-soaked underwear into his breast pocket would have been, he did care about his dad's cardiac health.)

Said sub's legs spilled out the door. He slid heavily from his seat, a sexed up flush still ripe on his neck.

"Can you make it?" Blaine asked him, wondering if Kurt would once again stand and find himself unexpectedly weak.

But Kurt said, "Uh-huh."

"Oh, your supervisor is waiting," Blaine noted, looking over his shoulder at an impatient figure standing in the storefront.

"Oh," Kurt managed, reaching for his half-done belt. "Must have a delivery."

Blaine gave the figure a wave, wondering if the guy had any clue he was Kurt's Dom. Ducking his chin, Kurt fumbled with his belt, fingers less articulate than usual.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," his sub reported sheepishly, his ears a lovely shade of red. "'M good."

He looked slightly glazed and sleepy, but now that Blaine had seen him pulling at restraints and moaning and completely peaced out, he couldn't mistake his sub's naturally floaty afterglow for a trip into deep space. Kurt was draggy, sweaty, and sated, not doped up and incoherent. Either look was a good look for him, though, Blaine thought. But he was biased.

"Aren't you just," he purred. "I hope you don't think you're off the hook now, though."

"... I'm still on a hook?"

Although Kurt's eyes were wide, Blaine didn't detect apprehension in the response so much as a breathless interest.

"Monday morning I expect you to bring me another one of your jock straps. I expect it to be full of your come just like this one. I know you can do that for me, Kurt. Can't you?"

Smiling, Blaine watched Kurt slowly puzzle that out.

"Full of it?" he echoed. "Like..."

"Mm-hmm. I want you to jack off into it. Wipe yourself clean with it. Then hand it to me at my locker on Monday morning."

Blinking, Kurt just stood there. Blaine could pretty much see the gears turning in his head. Maybe he was wondering what Blaine wanted such a thing for. Maybe he was just wondering when and where he could obey this command. Or maybe he was trying to figure out how he was going to conceal it; now that Blaine had hung around in his motel room with him, he had a new understanding of just how little privacy and personal space Kurt lived with. But he also knew that at his urging, Kurt had managed to overcome whatever mental block it was that kept him from even trying to jerk off. In fact, until Blaine had told him he had to wait for permission, he'd gotten into a refreshingly healthy pattern of getting off every night.

"Jack off," Kurt repeated.

"Yep."

"... Once? Or. Uh. Is it, like..."

"Permission," agreed Blaine. "You can jerk off all you want."

"And I'm s'posed to come?" Kurt asked weakly.

"Yes. You have your Dom's permission to come however much you want. Until I tell you otherwise."

He watched Kurt carefully consider his words.

"In fact," he added loftily, "if you feel like it, I recommend you do it as much as possible while you can. You held off for me when I asked you to, and now your body deserves to feel good. I'm giving you two whole days to dirty up a jock strap for me. Do you think you can take good advantage of this weekend and do what I ask?"

"Yeah," Kurt breathed.

The bell on the shop door jingled, and a guy called, "Hummel! Break's over!"

"Coming," Kurt yelled back, then made a weird face at the unintentional double entendre.

"Well, then. On that note, good night, sexy." Blaine reached out and tweaked Kurt's red cheek, beaming at him. "If you have any more questions, you can call me. I like your questions."

"Yeah," said Kurt, heartened. "I know. Um. Can I kiss you good night?"

"See? You always have good questions," said Blaine, giving his sub a smile. "Yes. You can kiss me good night."

He wasn't quite prepared for Kurt's hands, big and broad, to clutch him under the jaw and bring him in for the kiss, feverish and sweaty and right on the mouth.

This time it was Blaine's legs that trembled.


End file.
